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OLD LINES IN NEW BLACK AND WHITE. From 
Lowell, Holmes, and Whittier. With 12 full-page illus- 
trations, from designs in charcoal by F. Hopkinson 
Smith. Oblong folio or in portfolio, $12.00. 

The Same. Large-Paper Editio7i. With Illustrations 
printed on Japanese paper, mounted on plate paper. Edi- 
tion limited to 100 copies. In portfolio (16.X22 inches), 
$25.00. 

WELL-WORN ROADS OF SPAIN, HOLLAND, AND 
ITALY, travelled by a Painter in search of the Pictur- 
esque. With 16 full-page phototype reproductions of 
water-color drawings, and text by F. Hopkinson Smith, 
profusely illustrated with pen-and-ink sketches. A Holi- 
day volume. Folio, full gilt, $15.00. 

The Same. Popular Edition. Including some of the il- 
lustrations of the above. i6mo, gilt top, $1.25. 

A BOOK OF THE TILE CLUB. Containing 114 reproduc- 
tions of representative Paintings, Bas-Reliefs, Portraits, 
and Sketches by members of the Tile Club of New York, 
including 27 full-page phototypes. With Sketch of the 
Club, and account of one of its Meetings by F. Hopkin- 
son Smith and Edward Strahan. A Holiday volume. 
Folio, gilt top, $25.00. 

The Same. Edition de Ltixe. Limited to 100 copies. 
With full-page illustrations on Japanese paper. Superbly 
bound in vellum. FoHo, full gilt, $50.00. 

A WHITE UMBRELLA IN MEXICO. Illustrated by au- 
thor. i6mo, gilt top, $1.50 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
Boston and New York. 



A WHITE UMBRELLA 
IN MEXICO 



F. HOPKINSON SMITH 



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

(^z Bitoersibe press, Camlirib0c 
1891 



Fixis 



Copyright, 1889, 
By F. HOPKINSON SMITH. 

All rights reserved. 



The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company 

TyPo-Gravures by W. Kurt*. 



By transfer 
U. S. Soldiers Home Lib, 
MAP 1B 1938 




cj*5afi^b 



/ dedicate this hook to the most charming of 
all the senoritas I know; the one whose face 
lingers longest in my memory while I am away, 
and whose arms open widest when I return ; the 
most patient of my listeners, the most generous 
of my critics — my little daughter Marion. 



CONTENTS. 



♦ 

CHAPTER PACK 

Introduction i 

I. A Morning in Guanajuato ... 7 



29 



II. After Dark in Silao .... 

III. The Opals of Queretaro ... 45 

IV. Some Peons at Aguas Calientes 61 
V. The Old -Chair in the Sacristy 

AT ZaCAT^CAS 79 

VI. In the City's Streets .... 100 

VII. On the Paseo 119 

VIII. Palm Sunday in Puebla de los 

Angeles 128 

IX. A Day in Toluca 152 

X. To MORELIA WITH MoON . . . . 165 

XI. Patzcuaro and THE Lake . . . 177 

XII. Tzintzuntzan and the Titian . 195 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE 

The Pulque Plant i 

The Patio of my Benefactor .... 7 

Church of la Parroquia 15 

Garden Park at Guanajuato .... 20 

Church of Santiago, Silao 29 

The Plains of Silao 35 

The Water-Jars of Queretaro ... 45 

Church of Santa Clara 51 

The Garden of the Senoritas ... 56 

Market-Place at Queretaro .... 60 

Highway of Aguas Calientes .... 61 

Adobe Huts 67 

The Old Gardener's Azaleas .... 77 

The Old Chair of the Sacristy ... 79 
Side Entrance of Cathedral of Zaca- 

T^CAS 83 

The Steps of the Arcades 87 

The Great Dome of San Francisco . 100 
The Little Dome of the Chapel of 

San Antonio 105 

Kitchen of the Hotel Jardin, former- 
ly THE Chapel of San Antonio 107 



viii List of Illustrations 

The Peon Girl in the Convent Win- 
dow • io8 

Ancient Cypresses AT Chapultepec . . 119 

Near the Confessional in Puebla . . 128 

Balconies on Palm Sunday 130 

The Markets of Puebla 144 

Snow-Capped Orizaba 152 

The River Lerma 155 

The Alameda, Morelta 165 

On the Banks of the Lake 177 

Moorish Houses of Patzcuaro .... 183 

Lake Patzcuaro from the Plain . . 187 
The Old Convent Church at Tzin- 

tztjntzan 195 

Before the Railroad 196 

Old Belfry at Tzintzuntzan .... 198 

Stone Steps of the Convent .... 200 

The Stations of the Cross 210 

The Sacristy and the Titian .... 212 




INTRODUCTION. 

My probe has not gone very far below 
the surface. The task would have been 
uncongenial and the result superfluous. 
The record of the resources, religions, 
politics, governments, social conditions 
and misfortunes of Mexico already en- 
larges many folios and lies heavy on many 
shelves, and I hope on some consciences. 

I have preferred rather to present what 
would appeal to the painter and idler. A 
land of white sunshine redolent with flow- 
ers ; a land of gay costumes, crumbling 
churches, and old convents ; a land of 



Introduction 



kindly greetings, of extreme courtesy, of 
open, broad hospitality. 

I have delighted my soul with the sway- 
ing of the lilies in the sunlight, the rush 
of the roses crowding over mouldy walls, 
the broad-leaved palms cooling the shad- 
ows, and have wasted none of my precious 
time searching for the lizard and the mole 
crawling at their roots. 

Content with the novelty and charm of 
the picturesque life about me, I have 
watched the naked children at play and 
the patient peon at work ; and the haughty 
hidalgo, armed and guarded, inspecting 
his plantation ; and the dark-skinned seno- 
rita with her lips pressed close to the 
gratings of the confessional ; and even 
the stealthy, furtive glance of the outlaw, 
without caring to analyze or solve any 
one of the many social and religious 
problems which make these conditions 
possible. 

It was enough for me to find the wild 
life of the Comanche, the grand estate of 
the Spanish Don, and the fragments of the 
past splendor of the ecclesiastical orders 
existing side by side with the remnant of 



Introduction 



that Aztec civilization which fired the 
Spanish heart in the old days of the Con- 
quest. Enough to discover that in this 
remnant there still survived a race capa- 
ble of the highest culture and worthy of 
the deepest study. A distinct and pecul- 
iar people. An unselfish, patient, tender- 
hearted people, of great personal beauty, 
courage, and refinement. A people main- 
taining in their every-day life an etiquette 
phenomenal in a down-trodden race ; of- 
fering instantly to the stranger and way- 
farer on the very threshold of their adobe 
huts a hospitality so generous, accompa- 
nied by a courtesy so exquisite, that one 
stops at the next doorway to reenjoy the 
luxury. 

It was more than enough to revel in an 
Italian sun lighting up a semi-tropical 
land ; to look up to white-capped peaks 
towering into the blue j to look down upon 
wind-swept plains encircled by ragged 
chains of mountains ; to catch the sparkle 
of miniature cities jeweled here and there 
in oases of olive and orange ; and to real- 
ize that to-day, in its varied scenery, cos- 
tumes, architecture, street life, canals 



Introduction 



crowded with flower - laden boats, mar- 
ket plazas thronged with gayly dressed 
natives, faded church interiors, and aban- 
doned convents, Mexico is the most mar- 
vellously picturesque country under the 
sun. A tropical Venice ! a semi - barbar- 
ous Spain ! a new Holy Land. 

To study and enjoy this or any other 
people thoroughly, one must live in the 
streets. A chat with the old woman sell- 
ing rosaries near the door of the cathe- 
dral, half an hour spent with the sacristan 
after morning mass, and a word now and 
then with the donkey-boy, the water-car- 
rier, and the padre, will give you a better 
idea of a town and a closer insight into 
its inner life than days spent at the gov- 
ernor's palace or the museum. 

If your companion is a white umbrella, 
and if beneath its shelter you sit for hours 
painting the picturesque bits that charm 
your eye, you will have hosts of lookers- 
on attracted by idle curiosity. Many of 
these will prove good friends during your 
stay, and will vie with each other in do- 
ing you many little acts of kindness 
which will linger lovingly in your memory 



Introduction 



long after you have shaken the white dust 
of their villages from your feet. 

It is in this spirit and with this intent 
that I ask you to turn aside from the heat 
and bustle of your daily life long enough 
to share with me the cool and quiet of my 
white umbrella while it is opened in Mex- 
ico. 

F. H. S. 

New York, December, 1888. 




CHAPTER I. 

A MORNING IN GUANAJUATO. 

This morning I am wandering about 
Guanajuato. It is a grotesque, quaint old 
mining town, near the line of the Mexican 
Central Railroad, within a day's journey 
of the City of Mexico. I had arrived the 
night before tired out, and awoke so early 
that the sun and I appeared on the streets 
about the same hour. 

The air was deliciously cool and fra- 
grant, and shouldering my sketch-trap and 
umbrella I bent my steps towards the 
church of la parrbquia. 

I had seen it the night previous as I 
passed by in the starlight, and its stone 
pillars and twisted iron railings so de- 



8 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

lighted me that I spent half the night 
elaborating its details in my sleep. 

The tide of worshippers filling the 
streets carried prayer-books and rosaries. 
They were evidently intent on early mass. 
As for myself I was simply drifting about, 
watching the people, making notes in my 
sketch-book, and saturating myself with 
the charming novelty of my surroundings. 

When I reached the small square fa- 
cing the great green door of the beautiful 
old church, the golden sunlight was just 
touching its quaint towers, and the stone 
urns and crosses surmounting the curious 
pillars below were still in shadow standing 
out in dark relief against the blue sky be- 
yond. 

I mingled with the crowd, followed into 
the church, listened a while to the ser- 
vice, and then returned to the plaza and 
began a circuit of the square that I might 
select some point of sight from which I 
could seize the noble pile as a whole, and 
thus express it within the square of my 
canvas. 

The oftener I walked around it, the 
more difficult became the problem. A 



A Morning in Guanajuato g 

dozen times I made the circuit, stopping 
pondering, and stepping backwards and 
sideways after the manner of painters 
similarly perplexed ; attracting a curious 
throng, who kept their eyes upon me very 
much as if they suspected I was either 
slightly crazed or was about to indulge 
in some kind of heathen rite entirely new 
to them. 

Finally it became plainly evident that 
but one point of sight could be relied 
upon. This centred in the archway of 
a private house immediately opposite the 
church. I determined to move in and 
take possession. 

Some care, however, is necessary in 
the inroads one makes upon a private 
house in a Spanish city. A watchful por- 
ter half concealed in the garden of the 
patio generally has his eye on the gate- 
way, and overhauls you before you have 
taken a dozen steps with a " Hola^ senor ! 
a quidn busca usted ? " You will also find 
the lower windows protected by iron rejas, 
through which, if you are on good terms 
with the black eyes within, you may per- 
haps kiss the tips of her tapering fingers. 



lo A White Umbrella in Mexico 

There is a key to the heart of every 
Spaniard which has seldom failed me — 
the use of a little politeness. This al- 
ways engages his attention. Add to it a 
dash of ceremony and he is your friend 
at once. If you ask a Cuban for a light, 
he will first remove his hat, then his cigar, 
make you a low bow, and holding his 
fragrant Havana between his thumb and 
forefinger, with the lighted end towards 
himself, will present it to you with the 
air of a grandee that is at once graceful 
and captivating. If you follow his ex- 
ample and remain bareheaded until the 
courtesy is complete he will continue bow- 
ing until you are out of sight. If you are 
forgetful, and with thoughts intent upon 
your own affairs merely thank him and 
pass on, he will bless himself that he is 
not as other men are, and dismiss you 
from his mind as one of those outside bar- 
barians whom it is his duty to forget. 

In Mexico the people are still more 
punctilious. To pass an acquaintance on 
the street without stopping, hat in hand, 
and inquiring one by one for his wife, 
children, and the various members of his 



A Morning in Guanajuato 1 1 

household, and then waiting patiently until 
he goes through the same family list for 
you, is an unforgivable offence among 
friends. Even the native Indians are dis- 
tinguished by an elaboration of manner in 
the courtesies they constantly extend to 
each other noted in no other serving peo- 
ple. 

An old woman, barefooted, ragged, and 
dust begrimed, leaning upon a staff, 
once preceded me up a narrow, crooked 
street. She looked like an animated fish- 
net hung on a fence to dry, so ragged and 
emaciated was she. A young Indian one 
half her age crossed her steps as she 
turned into a side street. Instantly he 
removed his hat and saluted her as if she 
had been the Queen of Sheba. "^ los 
pies de usted, senora " (At your feet, lady), 
I heard him say as I passed. " Bese usted 
las manos " (My hands for your kisses, 
seiior), replied she, with a bow which 
would have become a duchess. 

I have lived long enough in Spanish 
countries to adapt my own habits and 
regulate my own conduct to the require- 
ments of these customs ; and so when 



12 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

this morning in Guanajuato, I discovered 
that my only hope lay within the archway 
of the patio of this noble house, at once 
the residence of a man of wealth and of 
rank, I forthwith succumbed to the law of 
the country, with a result that doubly paid 
me for all the precious time it took to ac- 
complish it j precious, because the whole 
front of the beautiful old church with its 
sloping flight of semicircular stone steps 
was now bathed in sunlight, and a few 
hours later the hot sun climbing to the ze- 
nith would round the corner of the tower, 
leave it in shadow, and so spoil its effect. 

Within this door sat a fat, oily porter, 
rolling cigarettes. I approached him, 
handed him my card, and bade him con- 
vey it to his master together with my most 
distinguished considerations, and inform 
him that I was a painter from a distant 
city by the sea, and that I craved permis- 
sion to erect my easel within the gates of 
his palace and from this coign of vantage 
paint the most sacred church across the 
way. 

Before I had half examined the square 
of the patio with its Moorish columns and 



A Morning in Guanajuato s ^ 

arches and tropical garden filled with 
flowers, I heard quick footsteps above 
and caught sight of a group of gentlemen 
preceded by an elderly man with bristling 
white hair, walking rapidly along the 
piazza of the second or living floor of the 
house. 

In a moment more the whole party de- 
scended the marble staircase and ap- 
proached me. The elderly man with the 
white hair held in his hand my card. 

" With the greatest pleasure, sefior," 
he said graciously. "You can use my 
doorway or any portion of my house; it 
is all yours ; the view from the balcony 
above is much more extensive. Will you 
not ascend and see for yourself ? But let 
me present you to my friends and insist 
that you first come to breakfast." 

But I did not need the balcony, and it 
was impossible for me to share his coffee. 
The sun was moving, the day half gone, 
my stay in Guanajuato limited. If he 
would permit me to sit within the shadow 
of his gate I would ever bless his gener- 
osity, and, the sketch finished, would do 
myself the honor of appearing before him. 



14 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

Half a dozen times during the progress 
of this picture the whole party ran down 
the staircase, napkins in hand, broke out 
into rapturous exclamations over its de- 
velopment, and insisted that some sort of 
nourishment, either solid or fluid, was ab- 
solutely necessary for the preservation of 
my life. Soon the populace began to 
take an interest, and so blocked up the 
gateway that I could no longer follow the 
outlines of the church. I remonstrated, 
and appealed to my host. He grasped 
the situation, gave a rapid order to the 
porter, who disappeared and almost im- 
mediately reappeared with an officer who 
saluted my host with marked respect. 
Five minutes later a squad of soldiers 
cleared out the archway and the street in 
front, formed two files, and mounted guard 
until my work was over. I began to won- 
der what manner of man was this who gave 
away palaces and commanded armies ! 

At last the sketch was finished, and 
leaving the porter in charge of my traps I 
seized the canvas, mounted the winding 
staircase, and presented myself at the 
large door opening on the balcony. At 



A Morning in Gtianajuato 75 

sight of me not only my host, but all his 

guests, rose to their feet and welcomed 

me heartily, 

crowding about 

the chair 

against which 

I propped the 

picture. 

Then a door 
in the rear of 
the breakfast- 
room opened, 
and the senora 
and her two 
pretty daugh- 
ters glided in 
for a peep at 
the work of the 
morning, de- 
claring in one 
breath that it 

was very wonderful that so many colors 
could be put together in so short a time ; 
that I must be muy fafigado, and that 
they would serve coffee for my refresh- 
ment at once. 

This to a tramp, remember, discovered 




1 6 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

on a doorstep but a few hours before, with 
designs on the hallway ! 

This done I must see the garden and 
the parrots in the swinging cages and the 
miniature Chihuahua dogs, and last I 
must ascend the flight of brick steps lead- 
ing to the roof and see the view from the 
tip-top of the house. It was when lean- 
ing over the projecting iron rail of this 
lookout, with the city below me and the 
range of hills above dotted with mining 
shafts, that I made bold to ask my host a 
direct question. 

** Senor, it is easy for you to see what 
my life is and how I fill it. Tell me, what 
manner of man are you ? " 

" Con gusto ^ senor. I am tm miner o. 
The shaft you see to the right is the en- 
trance to my silver mine. I am un agricid- 
tor. Behind yon mountain lies my haci- 
enda, and I am un bienhechor (a benefac- 
tor). The long white building you see to 
the left is the hospital which I built and 
gave to the poor of my town." 

When I bade good-by to my miner, 
benefactor, and friend, I called a sad-faced 



A Morning in Guanajuato 17 



Indian boy who had watched me intently 
while at work, and who waited patiently 
until I reappeared. To him I consigned 
my " trap," with the exception of my um- 
brella staff, which serves me as a cane, 
and together we lost ourselves in the 
crowded thoroughfare. 

"What is your name, muchachoV I 
asked. 

" Matias, sefior." 

" And what do you do ? " 

« Nothing." 

"All day?" 

" All day and all night, sefior." 

Here at least was a fellow Bohemian 
with whom I could loaf to my heart's con- 
tent. I looked him over carefully. He 
had large dark eyes with drooping lids, 
which lent an air of extreme sadness to 
his handsome face. His curly black hair 
v/as crowded under his straw sombrero, 
with a few stray locks pushed through the 
crown. His shirt was open at the throat, 
and his leathern breeches, reaching to his 
knee, were held above his hips by a rag 
of a red sash edged with frayed silk 
fringe. Upon his feet were the sandals 



1 8 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

of the country. Whenever he spoke he 
touched his hat. 

" And do you know Guanajuato ? " I 
continued. 

" Every 5tone, senor." 

'' Show it me." 

In the old days this crooked old city of 
Guanajuato was known as Quanashuato, 
which in the Tarascan tongue means the 
" Hill of the Frogs ; " not from the prev- 
alence of that toothsome morsel, but be- 
cause the Tarascan Indians, according to 
Janvier, "found here a huge stone in the 
shape of a frog, which they worshipped." 
The city at an elevation of 6,800 feet is 
crowded into a narrow, deep ravine, ter- 
raced on each side to give standing room 
for its houses. The little Moorish look- 
ing town of Marfil stands guard at the 
entrance of the narrow gorge, its heavy 
stone houses posted quite into the road, 
and so blocking it up that the trains of 
mules must needs dodge their way in and 
out to reach the railroad below. 

As you pass up the ravine you notice 
that through its channel runs a sluggish, 
muddy stream, into which is emptied all 



A Morning in Guanajuato 19 



the filth of the City of Frogs above, as 
well as all the pumpings and waste wash- 
ings of the silver mines which line its 
sides below. 

Into this mire droves of hogs wallow 
in the hot sun, the mud caking to their 
sides and backs. This, Matias tells me, 
their owners religiously wash off once a 
week to save the silver which it contains. 
As it is estimated that the summer fresh- 
ets have scoured from the bed of this 
brook millions of dollars of silver since 
the discovery of these mines in 1548, the 
owners cannot be blamed for scraping 
. these beasts clean, now that their output 
is reduced to a mere bagatelle of six mil- 
lion dollars annually. 

On you climb, looking down upon the 
houses just passed on the street below, 
until you round the great building of the 
Alhondiga de Granaditas, captured by 
the patriot priest Hidalgo in 18 10, and 
still holding the iron spike which spitted 
his head the year following. Then on to 
the Plaza de Mejia Mora, a charming 
garden park in the centre of the city. 

This was my route, and here I sat down 



20 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

on a stone bench surrounded by flowers, 
waving palms, green grass, and pretty 
senoritas, and listened to the music of a 




very creditable band perched in a sort of 
Chinese pagoda in the park's centre. 

Matias was equal to the occasion. At 
my request he ran to the corner and 
brought me some oranges, a pot of coffee, 
and a roll, which I shared with him on 
the marble slab much to the amusement 
of the bystanders, who could not under- 
stand why I preferred lunching with a 



A Morning in Guanajuato 2 1 

street gamin on a park bench to dining 
with the elite of Guanajuato at the cafe 
opposite. The solution was easy. We 
were two tramps with nothing to do. 

Next Mati'as pointed out all the celeb- 
rities as they strolled through the plaza — 
the bishop coming from mass, the gov- 
ernor and his secretary, and the beautiful 
Senorita Dona Maria, who had been mar- 
ried the month before with great pomp at 
the cathedral. 

" And what church is that over the way 
where I see the people kneeling outside, 
Mati'as ? " 

" The Iglesia de San Diego, senor. It 
is Holy Thursday. To-day no one rides ; 
all the horses are stabled. The senoritas 
walk to church and wear black veils, and 
that is why so many are in the streets. 
To-day and to-morrow the mines are 
close'd and all the miners are Qut in the 
sunlight." 

While Mati'as rattled on there swept ty 
me a cloud of lace encircling a bewitch- 
ing face, from out which snapped two 
wicked black eyes. The Mexican beau- 
ties have more vivacity than their cousins 



22 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

the Spaniards. It may be that the Indian 
blood which runs in their veins gives 
them a piquancy which reminds you more 
of the sparkle of the French grisette than 
of the languid air common to almost all 
high-bred Spanish women. 

She, too, twisted her pretty head, and 
a light laugh bubbled out from between 
her red lips and perfect teeth, as she 
caught sight of the unusual spectacle of a 
foreigner in knickerbockers breakfasting 
in the open air with a street tramp in san- 
dals. 

Seeing me divide an orange with Ma- 
tias she touched the arm of her compan- 
ion, an elderly woman carrying a great 
fan, pointed me out, and then they both 
laughed immoderately. I arose gravely, 
and, removing my hat, saluted them with 
all the deference and respect I could con- 
centrate into one prolonged curve of my 
spinal column. At this the duenna looked 
grave and half frightened, but the seno- 
rita returned to me only smiles, moved 
her fan gracefully, and entered the door 
of the church across the way. 

" The caballero will now see the 



A Morning in Guanajuato 25 

church ? " said the boy slowly, as if the 
incident ended the breakfast. 

Later I did, and from behind a pillar 
where I had hidden myself away from the 
sacristan who frowned at my sketch-book, 
and where I could sketch and watch un- 
observed the penitents on their knees 
before the altar, I caught sight of my 
senorita snapping her eyes in the same 
mischievous way, and talking with her 
fan, as I have often seen the Spanish wo- 
men do at the Tacon in Havana. It was 
not to me this time, but to a devout 
young fellow kneeling across the aisle. 
And so she prayed with her lips, and 
talked with her heart and fan, and when 
it was all thus silently arranged between 
them, she bowed to the altar, and glided 
from the church without one glance at 
poor me sketching behind the column. 
When I looked up again her lover had 
vanished. 

Oh! the charm of this semi-tropical 
Spanish life ! The balconies above the 
patios trellised with flowers; the swing- 
ing hammocks ; the slow plash of the 
fountains ; the odor of jasmine wet with 



24 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

dew; the low thrum of guitar and click 
of Castanet; the soft moonlight half-re- 
vealing the muffled figures in lace and 
cloak. It is the same old story, and yet it 
seems to me it is told in Spanish lands 
more delightfully and with more romance, 
color, and mystery than elsewhere on the 
globe. 

Matias woke me from my re very. 

" Senor, vespers in the cathedral at 
four." 

So we wandered out into the sunlight, 
and joined the throng in holiday attire, 
drifting with the current towards the 
church of San Francisco. As we entered 
the side door to avoid the crowd, I stopped 
to examine a table piled high with rosa- 
ries and charms, presided over by a 
weather-beaten old woman, and covered 
with what was once an altar cloth of great 
beauty, embroidered in silver thread and 
silk. It was just faded and dingy enough 
to be harmonious, and just ragged enough 
to be interesting. In the bedecking of 
the sacred edifice for the festival days 
then approaching, the old wardrobes of 
the sacristy had been ransacked, and this 



A Morning in Guanajuato 2^ 

piece coming to light had been thrown 
over the plain table as a background to 
the religious knickknacks. 

Instantly a dozen schemes to possess 
it ran through my head. After all sorts 
of propositions, embracing another cloth, 
the price of two new ones, and a fresh 
table thrown in, I was confronted with 
this proposition : — 

"You buy everything upon it, senor, 
and you can take the table and covering 
with you." 

The service had already commenced. 
I could smell the burning incense, and 
hear the tinkling of the altar bell and the 
burst from the organ. The door by which 
we entered opened into a long passage 
running parallel with the church, and con- 
necting with the sacristy which ran imme- 
diately behind the altar. The dividing 
wall between this and the altar side of 
the church was a thin partition of wood, 
with grotesque openings near the ceiling. 
Through these the sounds of the service 
were so distinct that every word could 
be understood. These openings proved 
to be between the backs of certain saints 



26 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

and carvings, overlaid with gilt and form- 
ing the reredos. 

Within the sacristy, and within five feet 
of the bishop who was conducting the 
service, and entirely undisturbed by our 
presence, sat four hungry padres at a 
comfortable luncheon. Each holy father 
had a bottle of red wine at his plate. 
Every few minutes a priest would come 
in from the church side of the partition, 
the sacristan would remove his vestments, 
lay them away in the wardrobes, and 
either robe him anew, or hand him his 
shovel hat and cane. During the process 
they all chatted together in the most un- 
concerned way possible, only lowering 
their voices when the pauses in the service 
required it. 

It may have been that the spiritual 
tasks of the day were so prolonged and 
continuous that there was no time for the 
material, and that it was either here in 
the sacristy or go hungry. Or perhaps 
it lifted for me one corner of the sheet 
which covers the dead body of the reli- 
gion of Mexico. 

These corners, however, I will not 



A Morning in Guanajuato 2y 

uncover. The sun shines for us all ; the 
shadows are cool and inviting; the flow- 
ers are free and fragrant ; the people cour- 
teous and hospitable beyond belief; the 
land the most picturesque and enchant- 
ing. 

When I look into Matias' sad eyes and 
think to what a life of poverty and suffer- 
ing he is doomed, and what his people 
have endured for ages, these ghosts of 
revolution, misrule, cruelty, superstition, 
and want rise up and confront me, and 
although I know that beneath this charm 
of atmosphere, color, and courtesy there 
lurks, like the deadly miasma of the ra- 
vine, lulled to sleep by the sunlight, much 
of degradation, injustice, and crime, still I 
will probe none of it. So I fill Matias' 
hand full of silver and copper coins, and 
his sad eyes full of joyful tears, and as I 
descend the rocky hill in the evening glow, 
and look up to the great prison of Guan- 
ajuato with its roof fringed with rows of 
prisoners manacled together, and given 
this hour of fresh air because of the sa- 
credness of the day, I forget their chains 
and the intrigue and treachery which 



28 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

forged many of them, and see only the 
purple city swimming in the golden light, 
and the deep shadows of the hills be- 
hind it. 



CHAPTER II. 



AFTER DARK IN 
SILAO. 

" Caballero ! A 
donde va tested V 
"To Silao, to 
see the cathedral 
lighted." 
"Alone?" 
" Cierto ! un- 
less you go." 

I was half way 
across the open 
space dividing the railroad from the city 
of Silao when I was brought to a stand- 
still by this inquiry. The questioner was 
my friend Morgan, an Englishman, who 
had lived ten years in the country and 
knew it thoroughly. 

He was placed here in charge of the 
property of the road the day the last spike 
was driven. A short, thickset, clear blue- 
eyed, and brown - bearded Briton, whose 
word was law, and whose brawny arm 




^o A White Umbrella in Mexico 

enforced it. He had a natural taste for 
my work and we soon drifted together. 

" Better take this," he continued, loos- 
ing his belt and handing me its contents 
— a row of cartridges and a revolver, 

" Never carried one in my life." 

" Well, you will now." 

" Do you mean to say, Morgan, that I 
cannot cross this flat plain, hardly a quar- 
ter of a mile wide, and enter the city in 
safety without being armed .'' " 

" I mean to say, ?fti amigo, that the 
mountains around Silao are infested with 
bandits, outlaws, and thieves ; that these 
fellows prowl at night ; that you are a 
stranger and recognized at sight as an 
American ; that twenty-four hours after 
your arrival these facts were quietly whis- 
pered among the fraternity; that every 
article of value you have on down to your 
collar-button is already a subject of dis- 
cussion and appraisement ; that there are 
nine chances to ten that the blind crip- 
ple who sold you dulces this morning at 
the train was quietly making an inventory 
of your valuables, and that, had he been 
recognized by the guard, his legs would 



After Dark in Silao 



have untwisted themselves in a minute; 
that after dark in Silao is quite a differ- 
ent thing from under the gaslight in Broad- 
way; and that unless you go armed you 
cannot go alone." 

" But, Morgan, there is not a tree, stone, 
stump, or building in sight big enough to 
screen a rat behind. You can see even 
in the starlight the entrance to the wide 
street leading to the cathedral." 

" Make no mistake, senor, these devils 
start up out of the ground. Strap this 
around you or stay here. Can you see 
my quarters — the small house near the 
Estacion ? Do you notice the portico 
with the sloping roof ? Well, my friend, I 
have sat on that portico in the cool of the 
evening and looked across this very plain 
and heard cries for help, and the next 
morning at dawn have seen the crowd 
gathered about a poor devil with a gash 
in his back the length of your hand." 

As we walked through the dust towards 
the city, Morgan continued : — 

" The government are not altogether to 
blame for this state of things. They have 
done their best to break it up, and they 



)2 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

have succeeded to a great extent. In 
Celaya alone the jefe politico showed me 
the records where he had shot one hun- 
dred and thirteen bandits in less than two 
years. He does not waste his time over 
judge or jury: strings them along in a 
row within an hour after they are caught 
plundering, then leaves them two days 
above ground as a warning to those who 
get away. Within a year to cross from 
Silao to Leon without a guard was as 
much as your life was worth. The dili- 
gence was robbed almost daily. This be- 
gan to be a matter of course and passen- 
gers reduced their luggage to the clothes 
they stood in. Finally the thieves confis- 
cated these. Two years ago, old Don 
Palacio del Monte, whose hacienda is 
within five miles of here, started in a dili- 
gence one morning at daylight with his 
wife and two daughters and a young 
Mexican named Marquando, to attend a 
wedding feast at a neighboring planta- 
tion only a few miles distant. They were 
the only occupants. An hour after sun- 
rise, while dragging up a steep hill, the 
coach came to a halt, the driver was pulled 



After Dark in Silao ^^ 

down and bound, old Palacio and Mar- 
quando covered with carbines, and every 
rag of clothing stripped from the entire 
party. Then they were politely informed 
by the chief, who was afterwards caught 
and shot, and who turned out to be the 
renegade son of the owner of the very 
hacienda where the wedding festivities 
were to be celebrated, to go home and 
inform their friends to bring more bag- 
gage in the future or some of them 
might catch cold ! 

" Marquando told me of it the week 
after it occurred. He was still suffering 
from the mortification. His description 
of the fat driver crawling up into his 
seat, and of the courteous old Mexican 
standing in the sunlight looking like a 
scourged medieval saint, and of the dig- 
nified wave of his hand as he said to him, 
'After you, senor,' before climbing up 
beside the driver, was delightful. I 
laughed over it for a week." 

"What became of the senora and the 
girls ? " I asked. 

" Oh, they slid in through the opposite 
door of the coach, and remained in seclu- 



^ A White Umbrella in Mexico 

sion until the driver reached an adobe 
hut and demanded of a peon family 
enough clothes to get the party into one 
of the outbuildings of the hacienda. 
There they were rescued by their friends." 

" And Marquando ! " I asked, " did he 
appear at the wedding ? " 

" No. That was the hardest part of it. 
After the ladies were smuggled into the 
house, Don Palacio, by that time dec- 
orated with a straw mat and a sombrero, 
called Marquando aside. * Senor,' he 
said with extreme gravity and deep pa- 
thos, * after the events of the morning it 
will be impossible for us to recognize 
each other again. I entertain for you 
personally the most profound respect. 
Will you do me the great kindness of 
never speaking to me or any member of 
my family after to-day ? ' Marquando 
bowed and withdrew. A few months 
later he was in Leon. The governor gave 
a ball. As he entered the room he caught 
sight of Don Palacio surrounded by his 
wife and daughters. The old Mexican 
held up his hand, the palm towards Mar- 
quando like a barrier. My friend stopped, 



After Dark in Silao 



35 



bowed to the floor, mounted his horse, 
and left the city. It cut him deeply too, 
for he is a fine young fellow and one of 
the girls liked him." 

We had crossed the open space and 




were entering the city. Low buildings 
connected by long white adobe walls, 
against which grew prickly pears^ strag- 
gled out into the dusty plateau. Croon- 
ing over earthen pots balanced on smoul- 
dering embers sat old hags, surrounded 
by swarthy children watching the prepara- 
tion of their evening meal. Turning the 
sharp angle of the street, we stumbled over 



^6 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

a group of peons squatting on the side- 
walk, their backs to the wall, muffled to 
their eyes in their zarapes, some asleep, 
others motionless, following us with their 
eyes. Soon the spire of la parrbquia 
loomed up in the starlight, its outlines 
brought out into uncertain relief by the 
flickering light of the torches blazing in 
the market-place below. Here Morgan 
stopped, and pointing to a slit of an alley 
running between two buildings and widen- 
ing out into a square court, said : — 

" This is the entrance to an old patio 
long since abandoned. Some years ago 
a gang of cutthroats used it to hide their 
plunder. You can see how easy it would 
be for one of these devils to step behind 
you, put a stiletto between your shoulder- 
blades, and bundle you in out of sight." 

I crossed over and took the middle of 
the street. Morgan laughed. 

" You are perfectly safe with me," he 
continued, "for I am known everywhere 
and would be missed. You might not. 
Then I adopt the custom of the country 
and carry an extra cartridge, and they 
know it. But you would be safe here any 



After Dark in Silao ^J 

way. It is only the outskirts of these 
Mexican towns that are dangerous to 
stroll around in after dark." 

There is a law in Mexico called the 
ley de fuego — the law of fire. It is very 
easily understood. If a convict breaks 
away from the chain gang he takes his 
life in his hands. Instantly every car- 
bine in the mounted guard is levelled, and 
a rattling fire is kept up until he either 
drops, riddled by balls, or escapes unhurt 
in the crevices of the foot-hills. Once 
away he is safe and cannot be rearrested 
for the same crime. Silao has a number 
of these birds of freedom, and to their 
credit be it said, they are eminently re- 
spectable citizens. If he is overhauled 
by a ball the pursuing squad detail a 
brace of convicts to dig a hole in the 
softest ground within reach, and a rude 
wooden cross the next day tells the 
whole story. 

If a brigand has a misunderstanding 
with a citizen regarding the ownership of 
certain personal effects, the exclusive 
property of the citizen, and the brigand 
in the heat of the debate becomes care- 



j8 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

less in the use of his firearms, the same 
wooden cross announces the fact with an 
emphasis that is startling. Occurrences 
Uke these have been so frequent in the 
past that the country around Silao reminds 
one of an abandoned telegraph system, 
with nothing standing but the poles and 
cross-pieces. 

Morgan imparted this last information 
from one of the stone seats in the alameda 
adjoining the church of Santiago, which 
we had reached and where we sat quietly 
smoking, surrounded by throngs of people 
pushing their way towards the open door 
of the sacred edifice. We threw away 
our cigarettes and followed the crowd. 

It was the night of Good Friday, and 
the interior was ablaze with the light of 
thousands of wax candles suspended 
from the vaulted roof by fine wires, which 
swayed with the air from the great doors, 
while scattered through this sprinkling 
of stars glistened sheets of gold leaf 
strung on threads of silk. Ranged along 
the sides of the church upon a ledge just 
above the heads of the people sparkled a 
curious collection of cut-glass bottles, de- 



After Dark in Siiao ^g 

canters, dishes, toilet boxes, and goblets 
— in fact, every conceivable variety of 
domestic glass. Behind these in small 
oil cups floated burned ends of candles 
and tapers. In the sacristy, upon a rude 
bier covered by an embroidered sheet, lay 
the wooden image of the dead Christ, 
surrounded by crowds of peons and Mexi- 
cans passing up to kiss the painted wounds 
and drop a fewcentavos for their sins and 
shortcomings. 

As we passed out into the fresh night 
air, the glare of a torch fell upon an old 
man seated by a table selling rosaries. 
Morgan leaned against one of the pillars 
of the railing surrounding the court, 
watched the traffic go on for a few min- 
utes, and then pointing to the entrance of 
the church through which streamed the 
great flood of light, said : — 

" Into that open door goes all the loose 
money of Mexico." 

When we reached the plaza the people 
still thronged the streets. Venders sold 
dulces, fruits, candles, and the thousand 
and one knickknacks bought in holiday 
times ; torches stuck in the ground on 



40 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

high poles flared over the alameda ; groups 
of natives smoking cigarettes chatted 
gayly near the fountain ; while lovers in 
pairs disported themselves after the man- 
ner of their kind under the trees. One 
young Indian girl and her dusky caballero 
greatly interested me. Nothing seemed 
to disturb them. They cooed away in 
the full glare of a street lantern as un- 
conscious and unconcerned as if a roof 
sheltered them. He had spread his blan- 
ket so as to protect her from the cold 
stone bench. It was not a very wide za- 
rape, and yet there was room enough for 
two. 

The poverty of the pair was unmis= 
takable. A straw sombrero, cotton shirt, 
trousers, and sandals completed his out- 
fit, a chemise, blue skirt, scarlet sash, 
and rebozo twisted about her throat her 
own. This humble raiment was clean 
and fresh, and the red rose tucked coquet- 
tishly among the braids of her purple- 
black hair was just what was wanted to 
make it picturesque. 

Both were smoking the same cigarette 
and laughing between each puff, he pro* 



After Dark in Silao 41 

testing that she should have two whiffs 
to his one, at which there would be a lit- 
tle kittenish spatting, ending in his having 
his own way and kissing her two cheeks 
for punishment. 

With us, some love affairs end in smoke ; 
here they seem to thrive upon it. 

Morgan, however, did not seem to ap- 
preciate the love-making. He was impa- 
tient to return to the station, for it was 
nearly midnight. 

"If you are going to supervise all the 
love affairs in Silao you might as well 
make a night of it," he laughed. So we 
turned from the plaza, entered a broad 
street, and followed along a high wall sur- 
rounding a large house, in reality the pal- 
ace of Manuel Gonzalez, formerly Presi- 
dent of the Republic. Here the crowds 
in the street began to thin out. By the 
time we reached another turn the city was 
deserted. Morgan struck a wax taper and 
consulted his watch. 

" In ten minutes, mi amigo, the train is 
due from Chihuahua. I must be on hand 
to unlock the freight - house. We will 
make a short cut through here." 



42 A White Umbrella in Mexico 



The moon had set, leaving to the flick- 
ering lanterns at the street corners the 
task of lighting us home. I stumbled 
along, keeping close to my friend, winding 
in and out of lonely crooked streets, under 
black archways, and around the sharp pro- 
jecting angles of low adobe walls. The 
only sound beside our hurrying footsteps 
was the loud crowing of a cock miscalcu- 
lating the dawn. 

Suddenly Morgan pushed aside a swing- 
ing wooden door framed in an adobe wall, 
and I followed him through what appeared 
to be an abandoned convent garden. He 
halted on the opposite side of the quad- 
rangle, felt along the whitewashed wall, 
shot back a bolt, and held open a second 
door. As I closed it behind me a man 
wrapped in a cloak stepped from a niche 
in the wall and leveled his carbine. Mor- 
gan sprang back and called out to me in 
a sharp firm voice : — 

" Stand still." 

I glued myself to the spot. In fact, the 
only part of me that was at all alive was 
my imagination. 

I was instantly perforated, stripped, and 



After Dark in Silao 43 

lugged off to the mountains on a burro's 
back, where select portions of my ears 
were sliced off and forwarded to my 
friends as sight drafts on my entire 
worldly estate. While I was calculating 
the chances of my plunging through the 
door and escaping by the garden, this 
came from the muffled figure : — 

" Quien vive ? " 

''La lihertad,'' replied Morgan quietly. 

" Que nacion ? " 

" Un compatriota" answered my com- 
panion. 

The carbine was lowered slowly. Mor- 
gan advanced, mumbled a few words, 
called to me to follow, and struck out 
boldly across the plain to the station. 

" Who was your murderous friend ? a 
brigand ? " I asked when I had recovered 
my breath. 

" No. One of the Rurales, or civil 
guards. They are the salvation of the 
country. They challenge every man cross- 
ing their beat after ten o'clock." 

" And if you do not halt ? Then what ? " 

" Then say a short prayer. There will 
not be time for a long one." 



44 ^ White Umbrella in Mexico 

As we reached the tracks I heard the 
whistle of the night express. Morgan 
seized a lantern and swung it above his 
head. The train stopped. I counted all 
my bones and turned in for the night. 




CHAPTER III. 



THE OPALS OF QUERETARO. 

I ARRIVED with a cyclone. To be ex- 
act, the cyclone was ahead. All I saw as 
I stepped from the train was a whirling 
cloud of dust through which the roof of 
the station was dimly outlined, a long 
plank walk, and a string of cabs. 

A boy emerged from the cloud and 
grabbed my bag. 

" Will it rain ? " I asked anxiously. 

" No, senor. No rain, but much dust." 

It was a dry storm, common in this 
season and section. Compared with it the 
simoon on the Sahara is a gentle zephyr. 



46 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

When the boy had collected the bal- 
ance of my belongings, he promptly asked 
me two questions. Would I visit the spot 
where Maximilian was shot, and would I 
buy some opals. The first was to be ac- 
complished by means of a cab ; the second 
by diving into his trousers pocket and 
hauling up a little wad. This he unrolled, 
displaying half a teaspoonful of gems of 
more or less value and brilliancy. 

I had not the slightest desire to see the 
spot, and my bank account was entirely too 
limited for opalescent luxuries. I im- 
parted this information, rubbing both eyes 
and breathing through my sleeve. He 
could get me a cab and a hotel — any- 
where out of this simoon. 

" But, senor, it will be over in a min- 
ute." 

Even while he spoke the sun sifted 
through, the blue sky appeared faintly 
overhead, and little whirls of funnel-shaped 
dust went careering down the track to 
plague the next town below. 

When I reached the plaza the air was 
delicious and balmy, and the fountains 
under the trees cool and refreshing. 



The Opals of Queretaro 47 

If one has absolutely nothing to do, 
Queretaro is the place in which to do 
it. If he suffers from the constitutional 
disease of being born tired, here is the 
place for him to rest. The grass grows in 
the middle of the streets ; at every corner 
there is a small open square full of trees ; 
under each tree a bench ; on every bench 
a wayfarer : they are all resting. If you 
interview one of them as to his special oc- 
cupation, he will revive long enough to 
search among the recesses of his ward- 
robe and fish out various little wads. 
When he unwinds the skein of dirty 
thread which binds one, he will spill out 
upon his equally dirty palm a thimble- 
ful of the national gems, of more or less 
value. 

You wonder where all these opalescent 
seed pearls come from, and conclude that 
each one of these weary dealers has an 
especial hole in the ground somewhere 
which he visits at night. Hence his wads, 
his weariness, and his daytime loaf. 

In reply to your inquiries he says, in a 
vague sort of a way. Oh ! from the mines ; 
but whether they are across the moun- 



48 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

tains or in his back-yard you never know. 
Of one thing you are convinced : to be 
retailed by the wad, these gems must be 
wholesaled by the bushel. You can hardly 
jostle a man in Queretaro who has not a 
collection somewhere about him. The 
flower-woman at the corner, the water- 
carrier with his red jars, the cabby, the 
express agent, the policeman, and I doubt 
not the padre and the sacristan, all have 
their little wads tucked away somewhere 
in their little pockets. 

And yet with all this no one ever saw, 
within the memory of the oldest inhab- 
itant, a single stone in the ear or on 
the finger of any citizen of Queretaro. 
They are hoarded for the especial benefit 
of the stranger. If he is a poor stranger 
and has but one peseta it makes no dif- 
ference, he must have an opal, and the 
spoonful is raked over until a little one 
for a peseta is found. Quite an electric 
light of a gem can be purchased for five 
dollars. 

The spot and the opal are, however, 
the only drawbacks to the stranger, and 
even then if it becomes known that upon 



The Opals of Oiieretaro 49 

no possible condition could you be in- 
duced to climb that forlorn hill, half way 
up which the poor emperor was riddled 
to death, and that you have been born 
not only tired but with the superstition 
that opals are unlucky, then by a kind of 
freemasonry the word is passed around, 
and you are spared, and welcomed. This 
was my experience. The well - known 
poverty of the painter the world over — 
instantly recognized when I opened my 
umbrella — assisted me, no doubt, in 
establishing this relation. 

But the charm of Queretaro is not con- 
fined to its grass - grown streets. The 
churches are especially interesting. That 
of Santa Cruz is entirely unique, partic- 
ularly its interior adornment. Besides, 
there is a great aqueduct, five miles long, 
built on stone arches, — the most impor- 
tant work of its kind in Mexico, — sup- 
plying fresh cool water from the moun- 
tains, the greatest of all blessings in a 
thirsty land. Then there are scores of 
fountains scattered through the city, semi- 
tropical plants in the plazas, palms and 
bananas over the walks, and on the edge 



^o A White Umbrella in Mexico 

of the city a delightful alameda, filled with 
trees and embowered in roses. The 
flowers are free to whoever will gather. 
Moreover, on the corners of the streets, 
under the arching palms, sit Indian wo- 
men selling water from great red earthen 
jars. 

With that delicate, refined taste which 
characterizes these people in everything 
they touch, the rims of these jars are 
wreathed with poppies, while over their 
sides hang festoons of leaves. The whole 
has a refreshing look which must be en- 
joyed to be appreciated. I put down half 
a centavo, the smallest of copper coins, 
and up came a glass of almost ice-cold 
water from the jars of soft-baked porous 
clay. 

Then there is the church of Santa Clara, 
a smoky, dingy old church, with sunken 
floors and a generally dilapidated ap- 
pearance within — until you begin to 
analyze its details. Imagine a door lead- 
ing from the main body of the church — 
it is not large — to the sacristy. The 
door proper is the inside beading of an 
old picture frame. Across the top is a 



The Opals of Queretaro 5/ 

heavy silk curtain of faded pomegranate. 




Around the beading extend the several 
members of a larger and still larger frame, 



52 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

in grooves, flutes, scrolls, and rich elabo- 
rate carving clear to the ceiling, the whole 
forming one enormous frame of solid 
gilt. In and out of this yellow gold door 
little black dots of priests and penitents 
sway the pomegranate curtain looped 
back to let them pass. To the right rises 
a high choir loft overlaid with gold leaf. 
Scattered about on the walls, unplaced, 
as it were, hang old pictures and tattered 
banners. On the left stands the altar, 
raised above the level of the church, 
surrounded by threadbare velvet chairs, 
and high candelabra resting on the floor, 
holding giant candles. Above these hang 
dingy old lamps of exquisite design. The 
light struggles through the windows, be- 
grimed with dust. The uncertain benches 
are polished smooth. At the far end a 
sort of partition of open wooden slats 
shuts off the altar rail. Behind this screen 
is stored a lumber of old furniture, great 
chests, wooden images, and the aban- 
doned and wornout paraphernalia of re- 
ligious festivals. 

Yet with all this Santa Clara is the 
most delightfully picturesque church in- 



The Opals of Qiieretaro 5^ 

terior one can meet with the world over. 
Some day they will take up a collection, 
or an old Don will die and leave a pot of 
money " to restore and beautify the most 
holy and sacred the church of Santa 
Clara," and the fiends will enter in and 
close the church, and pull down the old 
pictures and throw away the lamps, chairs 
and candlesticks, and whitewash the walls, 
regild the huge frame of the sacristy door, 
and make dust rags of the pomegranate 
silk. Then they will hang a green and 
purple raw silk terror, bordered with sil- 
ver braid, in its place, panel the white- 
washed walls in red stripes, bracket 
pressed-glass kerosene lamps on the col- 
umns, open the edifice to the public, and 
sing Te Deums for a month, in honor of 
the donor. 

This is not an exaggeration. Step into 
the church of San Francisco, now the ca- 
thedral of Queretaro, within half a dozen 
squares of this lovely old church of Santa 
Clara, and see the ruin that has been 
wrought. I forget the name of the dis- 
tinguished old devotee who contributed 
his estate to destroy this once beautiful 



^4 ^ White Umbrella in Mexico 

interior, but his soul ought to do penance 
in purgatory until the fingers of time shall 
have regilded it with the soft bloom of the 
dust and mould of centuries, and the light 
of countless summers shall have faded 
into pale harmonies the impious contrasts 
he left behind him. 

I often think what a shock it must be 
to the good taste of nature when one 
whitewashes an old fence. For years the 
sun bleached it, and the winds polished it 
until each fibre shone like soft threads of 
gray satin. Then the little lichens went 
to work and filled up all the cracks and 
crannies, and wove gray and black films 
of lace over the rails, and the dew came 
every night and helped the green moss to 
bind the edges with velvet, and the worms 
gnawed the splinters into holes, and the 
weeds clustered about it and threw their 
tall blossoms against it, and where there 
was found the top of a particularly ugly 
old hewn post a little creeper of a vine 
peeped over the stone wall and saw its 
chance and called out, " Hold on ; I can 
hide that," and so shot out a long, delicate 
spray of green, which clung faithfully all 



The Opals of Queretaro ^^ 

summer and left a crown of gold be- 
hind when it died in the autumn. And 
yet here comes this vandal with a scythe 
and a bucket, sweeps away all this beauty 
in an hour, and leaves behind only its 
grinning skeleton. 

A man who could whitewash an old 
worm fence would be guilty of any crime, 
— even of boiling a peach. 

But with the exception of the cathedral, 
this imp of a bucket has fastened very lit- 
tle of his fatal work upon Queretaro. 

When the sun goes down behind the 
trees of the plaza the closely barred shut- 
ters, closed all day, are bowed open, and 
between the slats you can catch the flash 
of a pair of dark eyes. Later, the fair 
owners come out on the balconies one by 
one, their dark hair so elaborately wrought 
that you know at a glance how the greater 
part of the afternoon has been spent. 
When the twilight steals on, the doors 
of these lonely and apparently uninhab- 
ited houses are thrown wide open, display- 
ing the exquisite gardens blooming in the 
patios, and through the gratings of the 
always closed iron gates you get glimpses 



^6 A White Umhrella in Mexico 





of easy chairs and hammocks with in- 
dented pillows, telling the story of the 
day's exertion. In the twilight you pass 



The Opals of Oiieretaro ^y 



these same pretty senoritas in groups of 
threes and fours strolling through the 
parks, dressed in pink and white lawn 
with Spanish veils and fans, their daint}^ 
feet clad in white stockings and red- 
heeled slippers. 

One makes friends easily among a peo- 
ple so isolated. When it is once under- 
stood that although an American you are 
not connected with the railway, their 
hospitalit}- is most cordial. 

"I like you." said an old man seated 
next me on a bench in the plaza one af- 
ternoon, "because you are an American 
and do not eat the tobacco. Caramba ! 
that is horrible ! " 

Isly trap, moreover, is a constant source 
of astonishment and amusement. Xo 
sooner is the umbrella raised and I get 
fahrly to work than I am surrounded by a 
crowd so dense I cannot see a rod ahead. 
It is so rare that a painter is seen in the 
streets — many people tell me that they 
never saw one at work before — that often 
I rise from my stool in despair at the 
backs and shoulders in front. I then 
pick out some one or two having authority 



^8 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

and stand them guard over each wing of 
the half circle, and so the sketch is com- 
pleted. 

This old fellow who shared my bench 
in the plaza had served me in this capa- 
city in the morning, and our acquaintance 
soon ripened into an intimacy. He was 
a clean, cool, breezy-looking old fellow, 
with a wide straw sombrero shading a 
ruddy face framed in a bushy snow-white 
beard. His coat, trousers, shirt, and san- 
dals were all apparently cut from the 
same piece of white cotton cloth. The 
only bit of color about him below his rosy 
face was a zarape. This, from successive 
washings, — an unusual treatment, by the 
way, for zarapes, — had faded to a deli- 
cate pink. 

"Not made now," said he, in answer to 
my inquiring glance. "This zarape be- 
longed to my father, and was woven by 
my grandmother on a hand loom. You 
can get plenty at the store. They are 
made by steam, but I cannot part with 
this. It is for my son." 

I reluctantly gave it up. It was the 
best I had seen. When he stood up and 



The Opals of Queretaro ^g 

wrapped it about him he was as delicious 
a bit of color as one would find in a day's 
journey. Moreover, the old fellow was a 
man of information. He knew the his- 
tory of the founding of the city and the 
building of the great aqueduct by the 
Marques de la Villa del Villar de la Aguila, 
who defrayed most of the expenses, and 
whose effigy decorates the principal foun- 
tain. He saw Maximilian and Generals 
Miramon and Mejia leave the convent of 
Santa Cruz the morning of their execu- 
tion, June 19, 1867 ; and remembered per- 
fectly the war with the United States and 
the day the treaty of peace was ratified 
with Congress in 1848. Finally he tells me 
that pulque was first discovered in Quere- 
taro, and insists that, as this is my last 
day in the city, — for on the morrow I go 
to Aguas Calientes, — I must go to the 
posada opposite and have a mug with 
him ; that when I reach the great City of 
Mexico I will think of this pulque, the 
most delicious in the republic, and find- 
ing none to compare, will come back to 
Queretaro for its mate and so he will see 
me again. 



6o A White Umbrella in Mexico 




We have the pulque, the old man drink- 
ing my share, and on our way to the sta- 
tion pass through the market-place. My 
last view of this delightful old city is 
across this market-place, with the domed 
buildings in the background silhouetted 

against the 
evening sky. 
All over the 
open space 
where the 
rush and 
traffic of the 
morning 
had held 
sway now lounged and slept hundreds of 
tired people, some on the steps surround- 
ing the square stone column centring the 
plaza, others flat on the pavement. Here 
they will doze until the sun looks at them 
from over the Cerro de las Camp an as. 
Then they will shake themselves together, 
and each one will go in search of his daily 
avocation. It is safe to say that not one 
in ten ever finds it. 




CHAPTER IV. 

SOME PEONS AT AGUAS CALIENTES. 

Blinding sunlight ; a broad road ankle 
deep in dust ; a double row of great trees 
with branches like twisted cobras ; inky- 
blue black shadows stencilled on the gray- 
dust, repeating the tree forms above ; a 
long, narrow canal but a few feet wide half 
filled with water, from which rise little 
whiffs of hot steam ; beside it a straggling 
rude stone wall fringed with bushes. In 
the middle distance, through vistas of tree 
trunks, glimpses of brown fields fading 
away into pale pink, violet, and green. 
In the dim blue beyond, the dome and 
towers of a church, surmounting little 
spots of yellow, cream white, and red, 



62 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

broken with patches of dark green, — lo- 
cating bits of the town, — with orange 
groves between. 

Long strings of burros crawl into the 
city along this highway loaded down with 
great bundles of green fodder ; undulating 
masses of yellow dust drift over it, which 
harden into droves of sheep as they pass. 

Shuffling along its edges, hugging the 
intermittent shadows, stroll groups of 
natives in twos and threes ; the women in 
straw hats with plaited hair, their little 
children slung to their backs, the men in 
zarapes and sandals carrying crates on 
their shoulders packed with live poultry 
and cheap pottery. 

Such was my first glance at Aguas Ca- 
lientes. But there is something more. 
To the left, along the whole length of the 
canal or sluiceway, as far as the eye can 
reach, are scattered hundreds of natives 
of both sexes, and all ages, lining the wa- 
ter's edge and disporting themselves in 
every conceivable state of dhhabille. In 
fact, it might as well be stated that the 
assemblage is divided into two classes, 
those who have something on and those 



Some Peons at Aguas Calientes 6^ 



who have nothing. Five hundred of the 
descendants of Montezuma quietly taking 
their baths at high noon on a public high- 
way, with only such privacy as the Repub- 
lic of Mexico and the blue sky of heaven 
afford ! 

Old men hobble along the roadside, 
turn oif to the left, select a convenient 
bush as a clothes-rack, scale off what 
scanty raiment they carry with them, and 
sHde turtle -like into the warm water. 
Young Indian girls in bunches of half a 
dozen sit by the canal and comb out their 
wavy black hair, glossy with wet, while 
they chat merrily with their friends whose 
heads bob up over the brink, and whose 
bodies simmer at a temperature of 90°. 
Whole families soak in groups, sousing 
their babies in the warm water and drain- 
ing them on the bank, where they glis- 
ten in the dazzling sunlight like bronzed 
cupids. Now and then a tall, straight 
young Indian turns aside from out the 
dust, winds his zarape about him, and 
protected by its folds unmakes his toilet, 
and disappears over the edge. 

Up and down this curious inland Long 



64 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

Branch rows of heads bob up from the 
sluiceway and smile good-naturedly as I 
draw near. They are not abashed or dis- 
turbed in the slightest degree ; they are 
only concerned lest I seek to crowd them 
from their places ; theirs by right of occu- 
pancy. 

Even the young women lying on the 
bank in the shade, with one end of a za- 
rape tossed over their backs, their only 
other garment washed and drying in the 
sun, seem more interested in the sketch 
trap than in him who carries it. It is 
one of the customs of the country. 

It is true that near the springs above, 
within a mile of this spot, there is a small 
pond filled from the overflow of the baths 
adjoining, which they can use and some- 
times do, but the privacy is none the 
greater. It is equally true that down the 
road nearer the city there are also the 
'"'' Bahos Grandes^^ where for one peseta 
— about twenty-five cents — they can ob- 
tain a bath with all the encircling privacy 
of stone walls, and with the additional 
comforts of a crash towel, one foot square, 
and a cake of soap of the size and density 



Some Peons at Aguas Calientes 65 



of a grapeshot. But then, the wages of a 
native for a whole day's work is less than 
one peseta, and when he is lucky enough 
to get this, every centavo in it is needed 
for the inside of his dust-covered body. 

Nor can he utilize his surplus clothing 
as a shield and cover. He has but one 
suit, a white shirt and a pair of cotton 
trousers. Naturally he falls back upon 
his zarape, often handling it as skilfully 
and effectively as the Indian women on 
the steps leading to the sacred Ganges do 
their gorgeous colored tunics, slipping the 
dry one over the wet without much more 
than a glimpse of finger and toe. 

All these thoughts ran through my head 
as I unlimbered my trap, opened my white 
umbrella, and put up my easel to paint 
the curious scene. 

^'Buenos dias, senor'' came a voice over 
my shoulder. I looked up and into the 
dark eyes of a swarthy Mexican, who was 
regarding me with much the same air as 
one would a street peddler preparing to 
exhibit his wares. 

"Does everybody hereabout bathe in 
the open air ? " I ventured to ask. 



66 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

" Why not ? It is either here or not at 
all," he replied. 

I continued at work, ruminating over 
the strange surroundings, the query un- 
answered. 

Why not, in fact? A tropical sun, 
clouds of dust dry as powder and fine as 
smoke, air and water free, nothing else 
in their life of slavery. 

One has only to look into these sad 
faces to read the history of this patient, 
uncomplaining race, or to watch them as 
they sit for hours in the shadow of some 
great building, motionless, muffled to the 
mouth in their zarapes and rebozos, their 
eyes looking straight ahead as if deter- 
mined to read the future, — to appreciate 
their hopelessness. 

From the days of Cortez down to the 
time of Diaz, they have been humiliated, 
degraded, and enslaved ; all their patriot- 
ism, self-reliance, and independence has 
long since been crushed out. They are a 
serving people ; set apart and kept apart 
by a caste as defined and rigid as divides 
society to-day in Hindoostan — infinitely 
more severe than ever existed in the most 



Some Peons at Agiias Calientes 6y 

benighted section of our own country in 
the old plantation days. 

They have inherited nothing in the 
past but poverty and suffering, and ex- 




pact nothing in the future. To sleep, to 
awake, to be hungry, to sleep again. 
Sheltered by adobe huts, sleeping upon 
coarse straw mats, their only utensils the 
rude earthen vessels they make them- 
selves, their daily food but bruised corn 
pounded in a stone mortar, they pass their 
lives awaiting the inevitable, without hope 
and without ambition. 

"As a rule," says Consul-General Stro- 
ther (Porte Crayon) " none of the working 
classes of Mexico have any idea of pres- 



68 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

ent economy or of providing for the fu- 
ture. The lives of most of them seem to 
be occupied in obtaining food and amuse- 
ment for the passing hour, without either 
hope or desire for a better future." 

David A. Wells, in his terse and pithy 
" Study of Mexico," speaking of the ha- 
ciendas and their peon labor, says : — 

"The owners of these large Mexican 
estates, who are generally men of wealth 
and education, rarely live upon them, but 
make their homes in the city of Mexico 
or in Europe, and intrust the management 
of their property to a superintendent who, 
like the owner, considers himself a gen- 
tleman, and whose chief business is to 
keep the peons in debt, or, what is the 
same thing, in slavery. Whatever work is 
done is performed by the peons, — in 
whose veins Indian blood predominates, 
— in their own way and in their own 
time. . . . Without being bred to any me- 
chanical profession, the peons make and 
repair nearly every instrument or tool that 
is used upon the estate, and this, too, 
without the use of a forge, not even of 
bolts and nails. The explanation of such 



Some Peons at Aguas Calientes 6g 

an apparently marvellous result is to be 
found in a single word or rather material, 
— rawhide, — with which the peon feels 
himself qualified to meet almost any con- 
structive emergency, from the framing of 
a house to the making of a loom, the mend- 
ing of a gun, or the repair of a broken leg." 

It is not, therefore, from lack of in- 
telligence, or ingenuity, or capacity, that 
the condition of these descendants of the 
Aztec warriors is so hopeless, but rather 
from the social isolation to which they are 
subjected, and which cuts them off from 
every influence that makes the white man 
their superior. 

So I worked on, pondering over this 
hopeless race, outcasts and serfs in a 
land once their own, and thinking of the 
long account of cruelty and selfishness 
which stood against the Spanish nation, 
when suddenly from beneath my white 
umbrella I noticed three Indians rise from 
the ground near the canal, stand apart 
from their fellows, and walk towards me. 
As I lifted my eyes they hesitated, then, 
as if gathering courage, again advanced 
cautiously until they stood within a dozen 



JO A White Umbrella in Mexico 

yards of my easel. Here they squatted 
in the dust, the three in a row, their za- 
rapes half covering their faces. I laid 
down my palette and beckoned them to me. 
They advanced smiling, raised their som- 
breros with an " a Dios, senor,''^ crouched 
down on their haunches, a favorite atti- 
tude, and watched every movement of my 
brush with the deepest interest, exchang- 
ing significant and appreciative glances as 
I dotted in the figures. Not one opened 
his lips. Silent and grave as the stone 
gods of their ancestors sat they, wholly 
absorbed in a revelation as astounding to 
them as a vision from an unknown world. 

Presently a great flock of sheep wrin- 
kled past me shutting out my view, and 
I reversed my canvas to shield it, and 
waited for the dust to settle. During the 
pause I slipped my hand in the side 
pocket of my blouse, drew out my cigar- 
ette case, and, touching the spring, handed 
its open contents to the three Indians. 

It was curious to see how they received 
the slight courtesy, and with what surprise, 
hesitancy, and genuine delight they looked 
at the open case. It was as if you had 



Some Peons at Aguas Calientes yi 

stopped a crippled beggar on the road 
and, having relieved his wants, had lifted 
him up beside you and returned him to 
his hovel in your carriage. 

Each man helped himself daintily to my 
cigarettes, laying them on the palm of 
his hand, and then watched me closely. I 
selected my own, touched my match-safe, 
and passed the lighted taper to the Indian 
nearest me. Instantly they all uncovered, 
placing their sombreros in the dust, and 
gravely accepted the light. When I had 
exhausted its flickering flame upon my 
own cigarette, and taken my first whiff, 
they replaced their hats with the same 
sort of respectful silence one sometimes 
sees in a crowded street when a priestly 
procession passes. It was not a matter of 
form alone. It did not seem to be simply 
the acknowledgment of perhaps the most 
trivial courtesy one can offer another in a 
Spanish country. There was something 
more that lurked around the corners of 
their mouths and kindled in their eyes, 
which said to me but too plainly : — 

" This stranger is a white man and yet 
he does not despise us." 



72 A White Umbrella in Mexico 



When the sketch was finished, the trap 
packed, and I turned to retrace my steps 
to my lodgings, all three arose to their 
feet, unwound their zarapes, and trailed 
them in the dust. I can see them now, 
standing uncovered in the sunlight, and 
hear their low, soft voices calling after 
me : — 

" Coil Dios va usted, mi ainigo." 

I continued my rambles, following the 
highway into the city, idling about the 
streets and jotting down queer bits of ar- 
chitecture and odd figures in my sketch- 
book. I stopped long enough to examine 
the high saddles of a pair of horses 
tethered outside a fonda, their owners 
drinking pulque within, and then crossed 
over to where some children were playing 
" bull fight." 

When the sun went down I strolled 
into the beautiful garden of San Marcos 
and sat me down on one of the stone 
benches surrounding the fountain. Here, 
after bathing my face and hands in the 
cool water of the basin, I rested and 
talked to the gardener. 



Some Peons at Aguas Calientes 7^ 

He was an Indian, quite an old man, 
a-nd had spent most of his Hfe here. The 
garden belonged to the city, and he was 
paid two pesetas a day to take care of his 
part of it. If I would come in the even- 
ing the benches would be full. There 
were many beautiful senoritas in Aguas 
Calientes, and on Sunday there would be 
music. But I must wait until April if I 
wanted to see the garden, and in fact the 
whole city, in its gala dress. Then would 
be celebrated the ^esfa of San Marcos, 
their patron saint, strings of lanterns hung 
and lighted, the fountains playing music 
everywhere, and crowds of people from all 
the country around, even from the great 
city of Mexico, and as far north as Zacate- 
cas. Then he tucked a cluster of azaleas 
into the strap of my " trap " and insisted 
on going with me to the corner of the ca- 
thedral, so that I should not miss the turn 
in the next street that led to the pottery 
market. 

All the markets of Aguas Calientes are 
interesting, for the country round about 
is singularly rich and fertile, and fruits 
and vegetables are raised in abundance. 



7^ A White Umbrella in Mexico 

The pottery market is especially so. It is 
held in a small open square near the gen- 
eral market, surrounded by high build- 
ings. The pottery is piled in great heaps 
on the ground, and the Indian women, 
sheltered by huge square and octagon 
umbrellas of coarse matting, sit all day 
serving their customers. At night they 
burn torches. All the other markets are 
closed at noon. The pottery is very 
cheap, a few centavos covering the cost of 
almost any single piece of moderate size, 
and one peseta making you master of the 
most important specimen in a collection. 

Each province, in fact almost every 
village in Mexico, produces a ware having 
more or less distinctly marked character- 
istics. In Guadalajara the pottery is 
gray, soft-baked, and unglazed, but highly 
polished and often decorated with strip- 
ings of silver and gold bronze. In Za- 
catecas the glaze is as hard and brilliant 
as a piano top, and the small pulque pots 
and pitchers look like polished mahogany 
or highly-colored meerschaum pipe bowls. 
In Puebla a finer ware is made, some- 
thing between good earthenware and 



Some Peons at Aguas Calientes y^ 

coarse, soft porcelain. It has a thick tin 
glaze, and the decoration in strong color 
is an under-glaze. Here in Aguas Cali- 
entes they make not only most of these 
coarser varieties, but a better grade of 
gray stoneware, covered with a yellow 
glaze, semi-transparent, with splashings of 
red flowers and leaves scattered over it. 

The potters are these much despised, 
degraded peons, who not only work in 
clay, embroider in feathers with exquisite 
results (an industry of their ancestors), 
but make the finer saddles of stamped 
and incised leather, besides producing an 
infinite variety of horse equipment un- 
known outside, of Mexico. Moreover, in 
Uruapam they make Japanese lacquers, 
in Santa Fe on Lake Patzcuaro, Moorish 
iridescent ware, and near Puebla, Vene- 
tian glass. In a small town in western 
Mexico I found a glass pitcher, made by a 
Tarascan Indian, of such exquisite mould 
and finish that one unfamiliar with the 
handiwork of this down-trodden race, see- 
ing it in its place of honor in my studio, 
would say, " Ah, Venetian — Salviati, of 
course." 



y6 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

From the market I sought the church 
of San Diego, with its inlaid wooden floor, 
and quaint doorway richly carved, and as 
the twilight settled, entered the narrow 
street that led to my lodgings. At the 
farther end, beneath an overhanging bal- 
cony, a group of children and natives 
were gathered about a band of wandering 
minstrels. As I drew near, the tinkle of 
a triangle and the thrum of a harp accom- 
panying a weird chant rose on the air. 
The quartette in appearance, costume, 
and bearing were quite different from any 
of the Indians I had seen about Aguas 
Calientes. They were much lighter in 
color, and were distinguished by a cer- 
tain air of independence and dignity. 

The, tallest and oldest of the band held 
in his left hand a short harp, quite Greek 
in its design. The youngest shook a tam- 
bourine, with rim and rattles complete, 
but without the drumhead. The third 
tinkled a triangle, while the fourth, a deli- 
cate-looking, large-eyed, straight young 
fellow, handsome as a Greek god, with 
teeth like rows of corn, joined in the 
rhythmic chant. As they stood in the 



Some Peons at Aguas Calientes yy 



darkening shadows beating time with 
their sandalled feet, with harp and trian- 
gle silhouetted against the evening sky, 
and zarapes hanging in long straight lines 
from their shoulders, the effect was so 
thoroughly classic that I could not but 
recall one of the great friezes of the Par- 
thenon. I lighted a cigarette, opened the 
window of my balcony, and placing the 
bits of pottery I had bought in the mar- 
ket in a row on my window-sill, with the 
old gardener's 

azaleas in the ! " 

largest jar, lis- 
tened to the 
music, my 
thoughts full of 
the day's work 
and experience. 
My memory 
went back to 

my three friends of the morning, stand- 
ing in the sunlight, their sombreros in the 
dust j to the garrulous old gardener bend- 
ing over his flowers ; to the girl selling 
pottery; to the almost tender courtesy 
and gentleness of these people, their un- 




7S A White Umbrella in Mexico 

changing serenity of temper, their mar- 
vellous patience, their innate taste and 
skill, their hopeless poverty and daily 
privations and sufferings; and finally to 
the injustice of it all. 

Peons and serfs in their own land ! 
Despoiled by Cortez, tricked by his suc- 
cessors, enslaved by the viceroys, taxed, 
beaten, defrauded, and despised by almost 
every ruler and usurper since the days of 
Spanish rule, the whole history of the life 
of the Aztec and his descendants, from 
the initial massacre at Cholula down to 
the present day, has been one long list of 
cruelty and deceit. 

The music ceased. The old minstrel 
approached the balcony and held up his 
wide sombrero. I poured into it all my 
stock of copper coin. " Muchas gracias, 
senor^^' came back the humble acknowl- 
edgment. Then they disappeared up the 
narrow street and the crowd dispersed. 
I looked after them long and musingly, 
and surprised myself repeating the bene- 
diction of the morning, — 

" Con Dios vayaji ustedes, mis amigosJ^ 



CHAPTER V. 

THE OLD CHAIR IN THE SACRISTY AT 
ZACATECAS. 



It stood just 
inside the door 
as I entered 
from the main 
body of the 
church. Rich- 
ly carved, with 
great arms 
broadened out 
where the el- 
bows touched, 
it had the air 
of being espe- 
cially designed for some overfed, lazy prel- 
ate. The hand rests were rounded in 
wide flutes, convenient spaces for his fat 
fingers. The legs bowed out slightly from 
the seat, then curved sharply, and finally 
terminated in four grotesque claws, each 
clutching a great round ball, — here his 



: %^ 


' 


: m/L^ 




: ^P1 


f 


tS^^^^^t^ 


|>:- 


^^^^B' 


u 



8o A White Umbrella in Mexico 

toes rested. The back and seat were cov- 
ered with the rags and remnants of a once 
rich velvet, fastened by an intermittent 
row of brass nails, some headless, and 
others showing only the indent of their 
former usefulness. On each corner of the 
back flared two gilt flambeaux, standing 
bolt upright like a pair of outspread hands. 
Over the whole was sifted, and into each 
crack, split, and carving was grimed and 
channelled the white dust that envelops 
Zacatecas like an atmosphere. 

The old chair had evidently had its day, 
and it had been a glorious one. What 
ceremonies ! What processions, masses, 
feasts, had it presided over ! What grave 
counsels had it listened to ! What dan- 
gers escaped, the last but a score of 
years ago when this same old cathedral 
of Nuestra Sefiora de la Asuncion was 
bombarded by Juarez ! 

Its curved and stately lines were too 
graceful for Mexican handiwork. Per- 
haps some old Spanish grandee, with peni- 
tence in his soul, had sent this noble seat 
across the sea to the new Spain, in grate- 
ful remembrance of the most holy and 



The Old Chair at Zacatecas 8i 

blessed Lady of Guadaloupe, the patron 
saint of this once powerful church. 

If, in the old days, it had belonged to 
a set of twelve, or, by reason of its arms, 
had presided over a family less blessed, 
no fragment of back, leg, or round was 
left to tell the tale. A plain square table, 
covered with a cotton cloth edged with 
cheap lace, upon which stood a crucifix, a 
few worn-out, high-backed, hide-bottomed 
chairs, and a chest of green painted bu- 
reau drawers built into the wall and hold- 
ing the church vestments, were its only 
companions. But all these were of a re- 
cent date and pattern. 

I had been in Zacatecas but a few 
hours when I discovered this precious 
relic of the last century. I coveted it 
at sight ; more, I admit, than I dared 
tell the good-natured, patient sacristan 
who stood by wondering and delighted, 
watching me make a rapid sketch of its 
twisted legs and capacious seat. To all 
my propositions for its immediate pos- 
session, however, he only shrugged his 
shoulders. I confess that many of them 
savored of conspiracy, and all of them of 



82 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

grand larceny, and that I was entitled to 
a speedy trial and a place in the chain- 
gang for suggesting any one of them. 

" A ragged old chair that will hardly 
stand upright ; the only one left. Who 
will miss it ? " I argued. 

" The padre, senor painter, who is very 
old. He loves everything here. This 
wretched chair has been his friend for 
many years." 

"Tell him, mi amigo, that I, too, love 
chairs, old ones especially, and will give 
him the price of two, four, six new ones, 
for this old rattletrap." 

" Very well, senor ; at five o'clock to-day 
vespers will be over. Then the padre will 
return here. Wait for me in the garden 
over the way near the fountain." 

The decision was a relief. In Mexico, 
as in Spain, it is generally to-morrow or 
the day after. M an ana p or la manana is 
the motto of the Spanish-speaking race. 

It was now twelve o'clock. Only five 
hours to wait. My hopes rose. I reen- 
tered the cathedral. 

It had been a sumptuous church in its 
day. Begun in 1612, completed one hun- 



The Old Chair at Zacatecas 8^ 



dred and twenty-five years later, and dedi- 
cated with imposing ceremonies the year 
following, it had contained within its walls 
all that florid magnificence which distin- 
guishes the Mexican 
churches. All the 
interior adornments 
had been of plated 
gilt, the altars of fine 
marble and onyx, the 
font of solid silver, 
— alone valued at 
twenty thousand 
pounds sterling. 
Four noble steps of 
colored marble, still 
intact, led the way to 
the altar. On each 
side ran a raiHng of 
wrought silver of fab- 
ulous worth. Over this had hung a lamp 
of splendid proportions, burning a single 
taper, and shedding a ruby light. The 
main floor was of marquetry of varied 
colored woods, and of a simple Moorish 
pattern, marking the prominence of that 
Spanish taste which at the period charac- 




84 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

terized so many of the great colonial 
structures. 

But sad changes had taken place since 
that date, most of them within the last 
quarter of this century. Not only had the 
superb silver altar-rail, hanging lamp, and 
costly font been coined down into Mexi- 
can dollars, but tapestries and velvets, 
chasubles and copes, heavy with embroid- 
ery in gold and silver, had also found 
their way to the crucible. Even the in- 
tricate marquetry floor had been broken 
up, presumably in the search for hidden 
vessels, and in its place here and there 
were great squares of heavy planking 
held down by rude iron spikes, the heads 
thrust up and kept bright by the restless 
feet of countless worshippers. 

The leaders of an impecunious govern- 
ment executing a forced loan do not stop 
at trifles like these ! 

As I wandered about, comparing its 
present shabby surroundings with the rec- 
ord of its past grandeur, groups of peni- 
tents would glide in, throw their rebozos 
from their faces, and kneel praying. Near 
me a single figure closely muffled would 



The Old Chair at Zacatecas 8^ 

press her face against the sliding panel of 
the queer confessional box and pour into 
the ear of the listless priest the story of 
her sin. Over by the altar a solitary In- 
dian, wrapped in his zarape, his wide 
straw sombrero by his side, would bend 
forward until his forehead touched the 
cold pavement and so remain motionless. 
About in the aisles or prostrate before 
the rude wooden figures of the saints 
knelt other groups of worshippers, often 
an entire family together, telling their 
beads with their lips and watching me with 
their eyes as I noted in my sketch-book 
the picturesque bits about me. Finally I 
completed the circuit of the interior, and 
a flood of sunlight poured in through an 
open door. This led me to the street and 
so on into the market-place. 

No such scene exists in any quarter of 
the globe where I have wandered : a 
brilliant sky blue as a china plate ; 
blinding sunlight ; throngs of people in 
red, orange, or blue ; women in rebozos 
and scarlet sashes ; men wearing Vermil- 
lion zarapes about their shoulders, with 
wide hats of felt trimmed with silver, and 



86 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

breeches of pink buckskin held together 
down the sides by silver buttons ; donkeys 
piled high with great sacks of silver ore ; 
cavaliers on horseback with murderous 
rowels in the heels of their riding-boots, 
their Mexican saddles festooned with 
lassos and lariats ; soldiers carrying car- 
bines and mounted on spirited horses 
guarding gangs of convicts, each one of 
whom staggers under a basket of sand 
held to his back by a strap across his 
forehead; great flocks of sheep blocking 
up the narrow streets, driven by shep- 
herds on horseback, changing their pas- 
ture from one hillside to another ; the 
whole completes a picture as strange as 
it is unique. 

In the centre of the plaza stands a curi- 
ous fountain, surrounded by a low wall 
breast-high. Around this swarm hun- 
dreds of women. Hanging over it are 
half a hundred more, reaching as far 
across the circular wall as their arms 
will permit, scooping up the thin sheet 
of water into saucers with which they 
filled their jars. On the pavement, pro- 
tected by huge square umbrellas of straw 



The Old Chair at Zacatecas ^7 

mats, with ribs like a boy's kite, squat- 
ting Indian women sell oranges, prickly- 
pears, figs, lemons, cJm^hnoyis, great mel- 
ons, and other tropical fruits. On the 




corners of the streets, under rags of awn- 
ing, sit cobblers ready to cut and fit a 
sandal while you wait, their whole stock 
in trade but a pile of scraps of sole 
leather, a trifle larger than the human 
foot, some leather thongs, and a sharp 
curved knife. Adjoining the market, fa- 
cing an open square, rises a great build- 
ing supported by immense square pillars 



88 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

forming an arcade. At the foot of each 
pillar a garrulous Mexican shouts out the 
wares of his impromptu shop at half min- 
ute intervals. Then comes the alameda 
or public garden, bright with flowers and 
semi-tropical plants, with a summer-house 
of the time - honored pattern, octagon, 
lined with benches and in the centre a 
table containing, as usual, the fragments of 
the last lounger's lunch. 

Here I rested out of the glare and din. 

Suddenly, while looking down upon the 
street across the green, listening to the 
plash of the fountain and watching the 
senoritas on their way to mass, I saw a 
rush of people crowding the streets below, 
and heard the clear musical notes of a 
woman's voice rising above the street 
cries. As the mob forced its way past 
the corner leading from the cathedral and 
up the main street fronting me, I caught 
sight of a ceremony not often seen in 
Zacatecas, certainly but rarely met with 
elsewhere. 

In the middle of the street, upon their 
knees on the rough stones, walked or 
rather crawled two native Indian girls 



The Old Chair at Zacatecas 8g 

dressed in white, their heads bare, their 
black hair streaming down their backs, 
their eyes aflame with excitement. Both 
clasped to their breasts a small crucifix. 
Surrounding them were a dozen half- 
crazed devotees, whose frenzied cries 
swelled the chant of the youngest peni- 
tent. Suddenly, from out a pulque shop 
on the opposite corner, darted three men, 
evidently peons. With a quick movement 
they divided the pressing crowd, sprang 
ahead of the girls, and, tearing their own 
zarapes from their shoulders, threw them 
in turn in front of the penitents. As the 
girls crawled across them, the first peon 
would again seize his zarape, run ahead, 
and respread it. 

" It is a penance, senor," said a by- 
stander, evidently a Spaniard, '' not often 
seen here. The girls believe they have 
committed some great sin. They are on 
their way to Los Remedios, the chapel that 
you see on the hill yonder. But for these 
drunken peons they would leave a bloody 
track." 

Whether drunk or sober, by bigot or 
scoffer, it was a graceful act. Surely the 



go A White Umbrella in Mexico 

gallant Sir Walter paid no more courtly 
tribute to the good Queen Bess when he 
threw his cloak beneath her dainty feet 
than did these poor peons to their dusky 
sisters. 

But it was still some hours before the 
padre would be at leisure and I get defi- 
nite news of my coveted chair. 

I would lunch at the Zacatecano, for- 
merly the old Augustinian convent, now 
the only inn this quaint old town can 
boast of, take a run by the tram to Gua- 
daloupe past the silver mines, and be back 
in time for the sacristan. 

As I entered, the landlord extended 
both hands as if he had been my dearest 
friend. He proved to be, later. 

" Certainly, senor. What shall it be ? 
We have a cutlet ; we also have a salad. 
Beer ? Plenty. San Louis, Bass, Mexican. 
Which shall I open for the illustrious 
painter ? " 

The painter ordered a bottle of Bass, 
and being thirsty and a long way from 
home, and with the remembrance of many 
a foaming tankard in other benighted 
quarters of the earth, ordered another. 



The Old Chair at Zacatecas gi 



If the landlord was polite at the first bot- 
tle, he became positively servile at the 
second. A third would have finished him, 
and my bank account. From the bill I 
learned that one bottle of Bass is equal 
to the wages of one able-bodied man 
working five days j two bottles, the price 
of a donkey ; three bottles, no man can 
calculate. 

Thus it is that a cruel government grinds 
the masses ! 

But the cutlet was tender and juicy, 
with just a dash of garHc ; the salad of 
lettuce of a wrinkled and many seamed 
variety, with sprays of red pepper cut ex- 
ceedingly fine and scattered through it, 
and, blessed be Bass ! the priceless bottles 
were full of the same old amber-colored 
nectar one always draws from under the 
same old compact, tin-foil covered corks. 

But to Guadaloupe and back before 
mass ended. 

You reach this suburb of Zacatecas by 
a modern tramway which starts a car 
every hour ; a sort of Mexican toboggan- 
slide, for the whole six miles is down hill 
by gravity. At the other end is the Iglesia 



92 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

y Capilla de Guadaloupe, — an exquisite 
modern chapel, — besides an old garden, a 
new market, a straggling suburb, and vari- 
ous teams of mules to toboggan you back 
again. 

I stepped from the car and began sight- 
seeing. The chapel, the gift of a pious 
lady, is semi-oriental with its creamy-white 
minarets shooting up from behind a mass 
of dark cedars relieved against the intense 
blue skyj the garden is overrun with 
sweet peas, poppies, calla lilies, and gera- 
niums blooming amidst fleecy acacia-trees 
waving in the dazzling sunlight \ the mar- 
ket has the usual collection of coarse pot- 
tery and green vegetables, with gay booths 
hung with bright zarapes and rebozos, and 
the straggling suburb is as picturesque 
and full of color as any other Mexican 
suburban village. I noted them all and 
each one, and they interested me intensely. 

One other thing interested me infinitely 
more. It was an individual who came to 
my rescue in the midst of a dislocated 
Spanish sentence. I was at the moment 
in a curious old cloister adjoining the new 
chapel of Guadaloupe, examining with the 



The Old Chair at Zacatecas 9^ 

aid of a rotund attendant the diabolical 
pictures that lined its walls, when a tall, 
well-built young fellow wearing a slouch 
hat stopped immediately in front of the 
most repulsive canvas of the collection, 
and, after listening to my halting inquiry, 
supplied the missing word in excellent 
Spanish. Then shifting his hat to the op- 
posite ear, he pointed to the supposed 
portrait of an ancient martyr surrounded 
by lurid flames behind iron bars, and re- 
marked quietly : — 

" Beastly ugly old saint, is n't he ? 
Looks like an underdone steak on a 
grill." 

" You speak English, then ? " 

" Why not ? You would n't want me to 
cling to this jargon forever, would you ? " 

From that instant the collection was 
forgotten. 

He was about thirty years of age, with 
a bronzed face, curling mustachios, and 
arching eyebrows that shaded a pair of 
twinkling brown eyes. A sort of devil- 
may-care air seemed to pervade him, 
coupled with a certain recklessness dis- 
cernible even in the way he neglected his 
upper vest buttons, and tossed one end of 



g4 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

his cravat over his shoulder. He wore a 
large, comfortable, easily adjusted slouch 
hat which he kept constantly in motion, 
using it as some men do their hands to 
emphasize their sentences. If the an- 
nouncement was somewhat startling the 
hat would be flattened out against the 
back of his head, the broad brim stand- 
ing out in a circle, and framing the face, 
which changed with every thought behind 
it. If of a confidential nature it was 
pulled down on the side next to you like 
the pirate's in the play. If his communi- 
cation might offend ears polite, he used 
one edge of it as a lady would a fan, and, 
from behind it, gave you a morsel of scan- 
dal with such point and pith that you for- 
gave its raciness because of the crisp and 
breezy way with which it was imparted. 

He hailed from New Orleans ; had 
lived in Zacatecas two years ; in western 
Mexico ten more; was an engineer by 
profession ; had constructed part of the 
International road, and was now looking 
after some of its interests in Zacatecas. 

'' My name ? Moon. Fits exactly, my 
dear fellow, for I 'm generally up all night. 



The Old Chair at Zacatecas 9^ 

Been here long ? " He rattled on. " You 
ought to stay a month. Richest town in 
all Mexico. Just a solid silver mine un- 
der your feet all the way from here to 
Zacatecas. Best people I know anywhere, 
and more pretty girls to the square mile 
than any spot on this terrestrial." 

And then followed a running descrip- 
tion of his life here and at home, inter- 
spersed with various accounts of his 
scrapes and escapades, from which I gath- 
ered that he knew everybody in Zacate- 
cas, including the priest, the command- 
ant, and the pretty girl in the balcony. 
This biographical sketch was further en- 
riched by such additional details as his 
once filling a holy father full of cognac 
to induce him to grant a right of way for 
a railroad through the convent garden ; 
of his being helped out of prison by the 
governor, who was his friend and who 
locked up his accuser ; and of his making 
love to a certain charming senorita when- 
ever he got a chance, which, he declared, 
was now precious seldom, owing to a 
cross-eyed mother who saw both ways at 
once, and a duenna who hated him. 



96 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

Would I take the tram and go back to 
Zacatecas with him ? 

Yes, if he would stop at the cathedral 
at five and wait until vespers were over. 

" So you have caught on, have you ? " 
Then in a confidential manner : " Come, 
now, give me her name. Reckon I know 
her. Bet it 's the black-eyed girl with the 
high comb. She 's always cutting her eye 
at the last stranger." 

It was difficult to make this dare-devil of 
a Southerner understand that my engage- 
ment was entirely with a simple-minded, 
mild-eyed old sacristan, and not with one 
of Zacatecas' bewitching senoritas. 

"What sacristan? Old Miguel? A 
greasy-looking, bandy-legged old bald- 
head ? Wears a green jacket ? " 

I admitted that the description classi- 
fied him to some extent. 

Moon broke out into a laugh that 
started the six mules in a gallop up the 
tramway. 

Did he know him? Well, he should 
think so. Best post-office in Zacatecas, 
especially at very early mass. What was 
he doing for me ? Smuggling letters ? 



The Old Chair at Zacatecas 97 

No, buying a chair. 

Moon laid one hand tenderly on my 
shoulder, shifted his slouch hat over his 
right ear, and in his peculiar vernacular 
characterized my statement as "diapho- 
nous," and then in a coaxing tone de- 
manded the name of the girl. 

"My friend, there is no girl. Wait 
until we pass the cathedral. It is now 
five o'clock. The sacristan is expecting 
me in the garden and he shall tell you the 
rest. There he is now waiting under the 
palms." 

" See here, Miguel," broke in Moon as 
we alighted, ignoring the sacristan's ob- 
sequious salutations. "What about this 
girl's chair ? Come, out with it." 

Miguel looked at Moon and then turned 
to me and smiled grimly. 

" It is always the senoritas with senor 
Moon," he said, and then he repeated our 
interview of the morning, winding up with 
my incomprehensible infatuation for the 
four-legged relic, and his unsuccessful ef- 
forts with the padre to sell or exchange it 
for any number of new chairs, great or 
small. 



g8 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

" It is really impossible, senor painter. 
The padre says it is an old one of many 
years," continued the sacristan. 

" If the painter wants the old ruin, he 
shall have it, you bow-legged old mail- 
bag." 

" The padre will not, Senor Moon ; not 
for ten new ones. I have exhausted 
everything." 

" What padre ? " replied Moon. 

" Padre Ignatius." 

" Old Ig is it ? No, he would n't part 
with an adobe brick." Then turning to 
me : " What did you tell him you wanted 
it for ? " 

'' For my studio." 

" Studio be . Go, Miguel, and tell 

Padre Ignatius that my very old and very 
dear friend, the painter, is a devout Cath- 
olic from the holy city of New York ; that 
he has an uncle, a holy father, in fact, a 
bishop, who is very poor and who charged 
him to bring from the ancient city of Za- 
cat^cas a sacred relic from this very 
church, and that this aged, low-backed old 
cripple of a chair will exactly fill the bill. 
Go! VHe ! But stop!" (In a lower 



The Old Chair at Zacatecas. gg 



tone.) "Did you give it to her — the lit- 
tle one — when — after early mass ? 
jBueno /" 

A long wait at the door of the sac- 
risty ; then a footfall in the darkening 
twilight. 

" Senor, the padre says he will consider. 
The price is of course very small, and but 
that your uncle the holy bishop is very 
poor it could not be, but as a " — 

"Hold up, Miguel. All right. Send 
the chair to the painter's lodgings." 

When I reached the church door and 
the street and looked back, I could see 
the red towers of the cathedral gleaming 
pink and yellow in the fading light of the 
afterglow, and far up the crooked street I 
could hear my voluble friend of an after- 
noon whistling an air from Norma. 

At the door of my lodgings I found the 
chair. 



CHAPTER VI. 

IN THE city's streets. 




■smM 

' ! "^^ " ' ' 

No one at all famil- 
iar with the history of ^> ' 
Mexico can wander 
about the streets and suburbs of this its 
principal city without seeing at every turn 
some evidence of the vast changes which 
have marked its past, and which have 
made its story so thrilling. 

If Prescott's pleasing fiction of Teo- 
callis towering to the stars, the smoke of 
whose sacrifices curled upwards day and 
night ; of gorgeous temples, of hanging 



In the City's Streets loi 



and floating gardens, myriads of feather- 
clad warriors armed with spear and shield, 
swarms of canoes brilliant as tropical 
birds, and of a court surrounding Monte- 
zuma and Guatimotzin, more lavish than 
the wildest dream of the Orient, — if all 
this is true, — and I prefer to believe it 
rather than break the gods of my child- 
hood, — so also is the great plaza of the 
cathedral, and the noble edifice itself with 
splendid facade and majestic twin towers, 
the hundreds of churches about which 
cluster the remains of convent, monas- 
tery, and hospital; the wide paseos, the 
tropical gardens, the moss -bearded cy- 
presses four centuries old under which the 
disheartened Aztec monarch mourned the 
loss of his kingdom, the palaces of the 
viceroys, the alamedas and their foun- 
tains. 

If you push aside the broad -leaved 
plants in the grand plaza you will find 
heaped up and half covered with tangled 
vines the broken fragments of rudely carved 
stones, once the glory of an Aztec temple. 
If you climb down the steep hill under 
Chapultepec and break away the matted 



102 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

underbrush, you will discover the muti- 
lated effigy of Ahuitzotl, the last of Mon- 
tezuma's predecessors, stretched out on 
the natural rock, the same the ancient 
sculptor selected for his chisel in the days 
when the groves about him echoed with 
song, and when these same gnarled cy- 
presses gave grateful shadow to priest, 
emperor, and slave. 

Stroll out to Santa Anita ; examine the 
chinampas — the floating gardens of the 
old Mexican race. They are still there, 
overgrown with weeds and anchored by 
neglect. As in the old times so now on 
every feast day the narrow canal of las 
Vigas leading to the cJwiampas is crowded 
with boats ; the maidens bind wreaths of 
poppies about their heads, and the dance 
and song and laughter of the light-hearted 
race — light-hearted when even for a day 
they lay their burdens down — still rings 
out in the twilight air. 

The two civilizations, the pagan and 
the Christian, are still distinct to those 
who look below the surface. Time has 
not altered them materially. Even to-day 
in the hollows of the mountains and amid 



In the City's Streets W^ 

the dense groves on the tropical slopes, 
the natives steal away and prostrate them- 
selves before the stone images of their 
gods, and in the churches of the more re- 
mote provinces the parish priest has found 
more than once the rude sculptured idol 
concealed behind the Christian altar. To 
the kneeling peon the ugly stone is his 
sole hope of safety and forgiveness. 

Important changes are taking place, 
however, which predict a happier future 
for Mexico. The monastery of San Hipd- 
lito, once the palace of Bucareli, now con- 
tains a printing press. The convent of 
Nuestra Senora de la Concepcion is a pub- 
lic school. The church of San Agustin, 
a public library, and through the silent 
arches of many cloisters, and through 
many a secluded convent garden run 
broad avenues filled with the gay life of 
the metropolis. Moreover to-day, every 
man, be he pagan. Christian, or Jew, 
may worship his particular god according 
to the dictates of his own conscience, in 
any form that pleases him. 

Nothing so pointedly marks for me the 
strange contrasts which these changes 



104 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

have brought about, as my own quarters 
at the Hotel Jardin. 

I am living in two rooms at the end of 
a long balcony overlooking a delicious 
garden, redolent with azaleas, pomegran- 
ates, and jasmine, in full bloom. I am 
at the extreme end of the balcony, which 
is several hundred feet long, and next to 
me is a stained and battered wall, in- 
crusted with moss and lichen, supported 
by buttresses running sheer into the pop- 
py beds. This wall sustains one side of 
a building which is surmounted by a 
quaint tile roof. 

My rooms are high-ceiled and spacious, 
and floored with red brick. The walls, 
judged from the width of the door jambs, 
are of unusual strength. 

At the other end of the balcony, from 
out the roof, rises a dome which glis- 
tens in the setting sun. It is covered 
with exquisite Spanish tiles of blue and 
yellow, each one of which forms part of 
a picture telling the story of the Cross. 
Beyond the garden, several squares away, 
cut sharp against the afternoon sky, curves 
the beautiful dome of the cathedral of San 



In the City's Streets lo^ 

Francisco, beneath whose frescoed roof 
once rested the bones of Cortez. 



Scarce twenty-five years ago the square 
bounded by this little dome with the Span- 
ish tiles, this great dome of the cathedral, 
and the outside of the mould-stained con- 
vent wall, formed the great religious foun- 
dation of San Francisco, the richest and 
most powerful of the ecclesiastical hold- 
ings in Mexico. From this spot radiated 
the commanding influence of the order. 
Here masses were heard by Cortez. Here 
through three centuries the great festi- 



io6 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

vals of the church were taken part in by 
the viceroys. Here was sung the first 
Te Deum of Mexican independence, and 
here seventeen years later were held the 
magnificent funeral services of the libera- 
tor Yturbide. 

How great the changes ! To-day a Prot- 
estant congregation worships in the grand 
old cathedral, its interior a horror of 
whitewash and emptiness ; a modern ho- 
tel supplants the old infirmary and palace 
of the commissioners general of the or- 
der ; a public livery stables its horses in 
the refectory, and four broad streets trav- 
erse the length and breadth of the sacred 
ground, irrespective of chancel, cloister, 
or garden. Through the top of the 
exquisite cupola surmounting the little 
glazed tile dome covering the chapel of 
San Antonio is thrust a sheet iron stove- 
pipe. Within this once beautiful house 
of prayer, the space covered by the altar 
is now occupied by an enormous French 
range, upon which is ruined all the food 
of the Hotel Jardin. In the delightful 
arched windows piles of dirty dishes re- 
place the swinging lamps ; near an exit 



In the City's Streets 



loy 



where once stood the font, a plate-warmer 
of an eastern pattern gives out an oily 
odor ; and where the acolytes swung their 
censers, to-day swarms a perspiring mob 
of waiters urgent to be served by a chef 
who officiates in the exact spot where the 
holy archbishop celebrated high mass. 

High on the cornice of the dome still 
clings the figure of San Domingo. His 




wooden bones and carved teeth should 
rattle and chatter themselves loose as he 
gazes down upon the awful sacrilege, for 
above him, where once the wings of the 



io8 A White Umbrella in Mexico 



Dove of the Holy Spirit overspread the 




^ I 



'V?^M' 



awe-hushed penitents, now twists with a 
convenient iron elbow a rusty pipe, that 
carries the foul breath of this impious 



In the City's Streets log 



range into the pure air of the heaven 
above. 

As I sit on my section of the balcony 
and paint, I can see within a few yards of 
my easel an open window, framed in the 
mouldy convent wall. The golden sun- 
light streams in, and falls upon the 
weather-stained stones, and massive iron 
bound shutter, touches a strip of dainty 
white curtain and rests lovingly upon 
the head of a peon girl who sits all day 
sewing, and crooning to herself a quaint 
song. She watches me now and then 
with great wondering eyes. As I work 
I hear the low hum of a sewing-machine 
keeping time to her melody. Suddenly 
there is a quick movement among the 
matted leaves clinging to the festering 
wall, and from out a dark crevice creeps 
a slimy snake-like lizard. He listens and 
raises his green head and glides noise- 
lessly into the warm sunlight. There he 
stretches his lithe body and basks lazily. 
I laid down my brushes, and fell into 
a revery. The sunlight, the dark-eyed In- 
dian girl, the cheery hum of her shuttle, 
and the loathsome lizard crawling from 



no A White Umbrella in Mexico 

out the ruins of a dead convent wall told 
me the whole story of Mexico. 

The old church of San Hipolito stands 
within a stone's throw of the spot where 
Alvarado, Cortez's greatest captain, is said 
to have made his famous leap on that 
eventful night of July i, 1520, the Noche 
Triste. Indeed, it was built by one of the 
survivors of that massacre, Juan Garido, in 
commemoration of its horrors. Not the 
present structure, but a little chapel of 
adobe, which eighty years later was pulled 
down to make room for the edifice of to- 
day. You can still see upon the outside 
wall surrounding the atrium of the pres- 
ent building a commemorative stone tab- 
let, bearing alto-relievos of arms, trophies, 
and devices of the ancient Mexicans, with 
this inscription : — 

" So great was the slaughter of Span- 
iards by the Aztecs in this place on the 
night of July i, 1520, named for this 
reason the Dismal Night, that after having 
in the following year reentered the city 
triumphantly, the conquerors resolved to 
build here a chapel, to be called the 
Chapel of the Martyrs ; and which should 



In the City's Streets /// 



be dedicated to San Hipdlito, because the 
capture of the city occurred upon that 
saint's day." 

Janvier says: "Until the year 1812, 
there was celebrated annually on the 13th 
of August at this church a solemn cere- 
mony, both religious and civil, known as 
the Procession of the Banner {Faseo del 
pendon), in which the viceroy and the great 
officers of the State and the nobihty to- 
gether with the archbishops and dignita- 
ries of the Church took part. Its princi- 
pal feature was the carrying in state of 
the crimson banner formerly borne by 
the conquerors, and still preserved in the 
National Museum." 

There was nothing to indicate the ex- 
istence of any such ceremony the day I 
strolled into its quiet courtyard. The 
wooden gates, sagging and rotting on 
their hinges, were thrown back invitingly, 
but the broad flags of the pavement, over- 
grown with weeds and stubby grass thrust 
up between the cracks, showed but too 
plainly how few entered them. 

Some penitents crossed the small in- 
cisure in front of me, and disappeared 



112 A White Umhrella in Mexico 

within the cool doorway of the church. 
I turned to the left, hugged the grate- 
ful shadow of the high walls, reached 
the angle, opened my easel and began to 
paint. 

It has a very dignified portal, this old 
church of San Hipolito, with half doors 
panelled and painted green, and with 
great whitewashed statues of broken-nosed 
saints flanking each side, and I was soon 
lost in the study of its ornament and 
color. For a while nobody disturbed me 
or gave me more than a passing glance. 

Presently I was conscious that an old 
fellow watering some plants across the 
court was watching me anxiously. When 
I turned again he stood beside me. 

" Sefior, why do you sit and look at the 
church ? " 

" To take it home with me, mi aniigo.^' 
" That cannot be. I will tell the padre." 
He was gone before I could explain. In 
five minutes he returned, pale and trem- 
bling and without his hat. Behind him 
came an old priest with a presence like a 
benediction. Clinging to his hands were 
two boys, one with eyes like diamonds. 



In the City's Streets nj 

Before I could explain the old man's 
face lighted up with a kindly smile, and 
he extended his hand. 

"Nicolas is very foolish, senor. Do 
not mind him. Stay where you are. 
After service you can sit within the 
church and paint the interior, if you like. 
If the boys will not annoy you, please let 
them watch you. It will teach them some- 
thing." 

The little fellows did not wait for any 
further discussion. They both kissed his 
hand, and crept behind my easel. The 
youngest, with the diamond eyes, Pa- 
checo, told me without drawing his 
breath his name, his age, where he went 
to school, that the good padre was his 
uncle, that his father had been dead for- 
ever almost, and that they lived across 
the way with their mother. The oldest 
stood by silently watching every move- 
ment of my brush as if his life depended 
on it. 

" And do you love the padre ? " I 
asked, turning towards him. 

" Yes." He replied in a quick decided 
tone as if it was a sacrilege to question 



114 ^ White Umbrella m Mexico 

it. " And so would you. Everybody, 
everybody loves the padre." 

"Is it not true?" This last to the 
sacristan, v^ho had come out to see the 
painter, the service having begun. 

The sacristan not only confirmed this, 
but gave me a running account of the mis- 
fortunes of the church even in his day, of 
its great poverty, of the changes he had 
seen himself. No more processions, no 
more grand masses ; on Easter Sunday 
there was not even money enough to buy 
candles. He remembered a lamp as high 
as this wall that was stolen by the govern- 
ment, — this in a whisper behind his 
hand, — all solid silver, and a pair of can- 
dlesticks as big round as the tree yon- 
der, all melted down to pay for soldiers. 
Caramha ! It was terrible. But for the 
holy padre there would be no service at 
all. When the padre was young he lived 
in the priest's house and rode in his car- 
riage. Now he is an old man, and must 
live with his sister over a posada. The 
world was certainly coming to an end. 

I let the old sacristan ramble along, 
wishing the service over, that I might see 



In the City's Streets ii^ 

again the good padre whom everybody 
loved. 

Soon the handful of people who, dur- 
ing the previous hour, had stolen in, as it 
were, one by one, crowded up the door- 
way and dispersed. It was a meagre 
gathering at best. 

Then the old priest came out into the 
sunlight, and shaded his eyes with his 
hand, searching for me in the shadowed 
angle of the wall. As he walked across 
the court I had time to note the charm- 
ing dignity of his manner, and the al- 
most childlike smile that played across 
his features. His hair was silver white, 
his black frock faded and patched, though 
neatly kept, and his broad hat of a pat- 
tern and date of long ago. The boys 
sprang up, ran to him, caught him about 
the knees, and kissed his hands. Not as 
if it was a mark of devotion or respect, 
but as if they could not help it. The sac- 
ristan uncovered his head. For myself, 
I must confess that I was bareheaded and 
on my feet before I knew it. Would I 
come to his house and have a cup of cof- 
fee with him .? It was but across the 



ii6 A White Umhrella in Mexico 

street. The sacristan would see that my 
traps were not disturbed. At this the 
boys danced up and down, broke through 
the gate, and when we reached the nar- 
row door that led to the balcony above, 
Pacheco had already dragged his mother 
to the railing, to see the painter the good 
padre was bringing home. 

It was a curious home for a priest. 
There were but three rooms, all fronting 
on a balcony of the second floor, overlook- 
ing a garden in which clothes were dry- 
ing among and above the foliage. It was 
clean and cheery, however. Some pots of 
flowers bloomed in the windows, and 
there was a rocking-chair covered with 
a cotton cloth, a lounge with cushions, 
a few books and knickknacks, besides a 
square table holding a brass crucifix and 
two candles. In the corner of the adjoin- 
ing room was an iron bedstead and a few 
articles of furniture. This was where the 
padre slept. 

" The times are changed, good father ? " 
I asked, when he had finished fiUing his 
cup. 

" Yes, my son, and for the worse." And 



In the City's Streets iiy 

then clearly but without bitterness, or any- 
other feeling apparently, except the deep- 
est sorrow, he told me the story of the 
downfall of his church in Mexico. It is 
needless to repeat it here. The old fa- 
ther thought only of the pomp, and splen- 
dor, and power for good, of the religion 
he loved, and could not see the degrada- 
tion of the days he mourned. Within a 
stone's throw of where we sat the flowers 
were blooming, and the palms waving 
in the plaza of San Diego, over the ex- 
act spot where, less than a century ago, 
the smoke of the auto de fe curled away 
in the sunlight. I did not remind him 
of it. His own life had been so full of 
every good deed, and Christian charity, 
and all his own waking hours had been 
so closely spent either at altar or bedside, 
that he could not have understood how 
terrible could be the power of the Church 
he revered, perverted and misused. 

When he ceased he drew a deep sigh, 
rose from his chair, and disappeared into 
the adjoining room. In a few moments he 
returned, bearing in his arms a beautiful 
cope embroidered in silver on white satin. 



n8 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

"This, my son," said he, "is the last 
relic of value in San Hipolito. It is, as 
you see, very precious, and very old. A 
present from Pope Innocent XII., who 
sent it to the brotherhood, the Hipdlitos, 
in the year 1700. The pieces that came 
with it, the chasubles, stole, and other 
vestments are gone. This I keep by my 
bedside." 

He folded it carefully, returned it to its 
hiding-place, and accompanied me to the 
outer door. I can see him now, his white 
hair glistening in the light, the boys cling- 
ing to his hands. 



CHAPTER VII. 



ON THE PASEO. 




The Eng- 
lish dogcart 
and the 
French bon- 
n e t have 
just broken 
out in the 
best society 
of Mexico. 
The disease 
doubtless 
came in with 
the r ai 1- 
..; roads. 

At pres- 
ent the cases are sporadic, and only the 
young caballero who knows Piccadilly and 
the gay sefiorita who has watched the bril- 
liant procession pass under the Arc de Tri- 
omphe are affected. But it is nevertheless 



120 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

evident that in the larger cities the con- 
tagion is spreading, and that in a few 
years it will become epidemic. 

Nowhere should the calamity of a 
change in national habits and costumes 
be more regretted than here. Stroll up 
the Paseo de la Reforma at sundown, — 
the Champs Elyse'es of Mexico, — and 
watch the endless procession of open 
carriages filled with beautiful women with 
filmy mantillas shading their dark eyes, 
the countless riders mounted on spirited 
horses, with saddle pommels hung with 
lasso and lariat ; run your eye along the 
sidewalk thronged with people, and wover 
the mounted soldiers in intermittent 
groups, policing the brilliant pageant, and 
tell me if anywhere else in the world you 
have seen so rich and novel a sight. 

A carriage passes, and a velvet-eyed 
beauty in saluting an admirer drops her 
handkerchief. In an instant he wheels, 
dashes forward, and before you can 
think, he has picked up the dainty per- 
fumed cambric from the dust without 
leaving his saddle, and all with the ease 
and grace of a Comanche. 



On the Paseo t2i 

Should a horse become unmanageable 
and plunge down the overcrowded thor- 
oughfare, there are half a dozen riders 
within sight who can overtake him before 
he has run a stone's throw, loop a lasso 
over his head, and tumble him into the 
road. Not ranchmen out for an afternoon 
airing, but kid-gloved dandies in white 
buckskin and silver, with waxed mous- 
taches, who learned this trick on the ha- 
ciendas when they were boys, and to 
whom it is as easy as breathing. It is 
difficult to imagine any succeeding gen- 
eration sitting back-a-back to a knee- 
breeched flunkey, and driving a curtailed 
cob before a pair of lumbering cart- 
wheels. 

Analyze the features of a Spanish or 
Mexican beauty. The purple-black hair, 
long drooping lashes, ivory-white skin, the 
sinking, half - swooning indolence of her 
manner. Note how graceful and becom- 
ing are the clinging folds of her mantilla, 
falling to the shoulders, and losing itself 
in the undulating lines of her exquisite 
figure. Imagine a cockchafer of a bonnet, 
an abomination of beads, bows, and ban- 



722 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

gles, surmounting this ideal inamorata. 
The shock is about as great as if some 
scoffer tied a seaside hat under the chin 
of the Venus de Milo. 

Verily the illustrated newspaper and 
the ready-made clothing man have re- 
duced the costume of the civilized and 
semi-barbarous world to the level of the 
commonplace ! I thank my lucky stars that 
I still know a few out-of-the-way corners 
where the Castanet and high-heeled shoe, 
the long, flowing, many-colored tunic, the 
white sabot and snowy cap, and the san- 
dal and sombrero, are still left to delight 
me with their picturesqueness, their har- 
mony of color and grace. 

All these reflections came to me as I 
strolled up the Reforma, elbowing my way 
along, avoiding the current, or crossing it, 
for the shelter of one of the tree trunks 
lining the sidewalks, behind which I made 
five-minute outlines of the salient features 
of the moving panorama. When I reached 
the statue of Columbus, the crowd be- 
came uncomfortable, especially that part 
which had formed a "cue," with the head 
looking over my sketch-book, and so I 



On the Paseo 12^ 



hailed a cab and drove away towards the 
castle of Chapultepec. The Paseo ends 
at this famous spot. 

The fortress is built upon a hill that 
rises some two hundred feet above the 
valley, and is environed by a noble park 
and garden, above which tower the fa- 
mous groves of hoary cypresses. On this 
commanding eminence once stood the 
palace of Montezuma, if we may believe 
the traditions. Indeed, Prescott dilates 
with enthusiasm upon the details of its 
splendor, and of its luxuriant adornment, 
these same cypresses playing an impor- 
tant part in the charming extravaganza 
with which he delighted our youth. The 
records say that when the haughty Span- 
iard knocked at the city's gate and de- 
manded his person, his treasure, and his 
arms, the vacillating monarch retired to 
the cool shadows of these then ancient 
groves, collected together a proper per- 
centage of his wives, and wept. This 
may be fiction, and that pious old monk, 
Bernal Diaz, Cortez's scribe, inspired by 
a lively sense of the value of his own 
head, and with a loyal desire to save 



124 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

his master's, may alone be responsible 
for it. 

For this I care little. The trees are 
still here, the very same old gnarled and 
twisted trunks. The tawny Indian in 
feathers, the grim cavalier in armor ; fine 
ladies in lace ; hidalgos in velvet, all the 
gay throngs who have enlivened these 
shady aisles, each bedecked after the man- 
ner and custom of their times, are gone. 
But the old trees still stand. 

What the great kings of Tenochtitlan 
saw as they looked up into their shelter- 
ing branches, I see: the ribbed brown 
bark sparkling with gray green lichen ; 
the sweep of the wrinkled trunk rushing 
upward into outspreading arms ; the clear 
sky turquoised amid matted foliage ; the 
gray moss waving in the soft air. With 
these alive and above me, I can imagine 
the rest, and so I pick out a particularly 
comfortable old root that curves out from 
beneath one of the great giants, and sit 
me down and persuade myself that all the 
Aztec kings have been wont to rest their 
bones thereon. From where I lounge, I 
can see away up among the top branches 



On the Paseo 12^ 



the castle and buildings of the military- 
school, and at intervals hear the bugle 
sounding the afternoon's drill. Later I 
toil up the steep ascent, and from the 
edge of the stone parapet skirting the 
bluff, drink in the glory and beauty of 
perhaps the finest landscape in the world. 
There are two views which always rise 
up in my memory when a grand pano- 
ramic vision bursts upon me suddenly. 
One is from a spot in the Sierra Nevada 
Mountains, in Granada, called " La Ultima 
Suspira de Mores." It is where Boabdil 
stood and wept when he looked for the 
last time over the beautiful valley of the 
Vega, — the loveliest garden in Spain, — 
the red towers and terraces of the Al- 
hambra bathed in the setting sun. The 
other is this great sweep of plain, and dis- 
tant mountain range, with all its wealth of 
palm, orange, and olive ; the snow-capped 
twin peaks dominating the horizon ; the 
silver line of the distant lakes, and the 
fair city, the Tenochtitlan of the ancient, 
the Eldorado of Cortez, sparkling like a 
jewel in the midst of this vast stretch of 
green and gold. 



126 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

Both monarchs wept over their domin- 
ions. Boabdil, that the power of his race 
which for six hundred years had ruled 
Spain was broken, and that the light of 
the Crescent had paled forever in the ef- 
fulgence of the rising Cross. Montezuma, 
that the fires of his temples had forever 
gone out, and that henceforward his peo- 
ple were slaves. 

Sitting here alone on this stone parapet, 
watching the fading sunlight and the long 
creeping shadows and comparing Mexico 
and Spain of to-day with what we know 
to be true of the Moors, and what we 
hope was true of the Aztecs, and being in 
a reflective frame of mind, it becomes a 
question with me whether the civilized 
world ought not to have mingled their 
tears with both potentates. The delight- 
ful historian sums it up in this way : — 

" Spain has the unenviable credit of 
having destroyed two great civilizations." 

Full of these reveries, and with the 
question undecided, I retraced my steps 
past the boy sentinels, down the long hill, 
through the gardens and cypresses, and 
out into the broad road skirting the great 



On the Paseo i2y 



aqueduct of Bucareli. There I hailed a 
cab, and whirled into the city brilliant 
with lights, and so home to my lodgings 
overlooking the old convent garden. 




CHAPTER VIII. 



PALM SUNDAY IN PUEBLA DE LOS AN- 
GELES. 



Some one hundred miles from the city 
of Mexico, and within twice that distance 
of Vera Cruz and the sea, and some seven 
thousand feet up into the clear, crisp air, 
lies the city of Puebla. The streets are 
broad and clean, the plazas filled with 
trees and rich in flowers, the markets ex- 
ceptionally interesting. Above this charm- 
ing city tower, like huge sentinels, the two 
great volcanoes Popocatapetl and Iztacci- 
huatl. 

The legend of its founding is quaint 
and somewhat characteristic ; moreover, 
there is no shadow of doubt as to its 
truth. 



In Puebla de los Angeles i2g 

The good Fray Julian Garces, the first 
consecrated bishop of the Catholic Church 
in Mexico, conceived the most praise- 
worthy plan of founding, somewhere be- 
tween the coast and the city of Mexico, a 
haven of refuge and safe resting-place for 
weary travellers. Upon one eventful 
night, when his mind was filled with this 
noble resolve, he beheld a lovely plain, 
bounded by the great slope of the volca- 
noes, watered by two rivers, and dotted 
by many ever-living springs, making all 
things fresh and green. As he gazed, his 
eyes beheld two angels with line and rod, 
measuring bounds and distances upon the 
ground. After seeing the vision, the 
bishop awoke, and that very hour set out 
to search for the site the angels had 
shown him; upon finding which he joy- 
ously exclaimed, "This is the site the 
Lord has chosen through his holy angels, 
and here shall the city be ; " and even 
now the most charming and delightful of 
all the cities on the southern slope is this 
Puebla de los Angeles. Nothing has oc- 
curred since to shake confidence in the 
wisdom of the good bishop, nor impair the 



I ^o A White Umbrella in Mexico 



value of his undertaking, and to-day the 
idler, the antiquary, and the artist rise up 
and call him blessed. 

But the pious bishop did not stop here. 
As early as 1536 
he laid the cor- 
ner-stone of the 
present cathe- 
dral, completed 
one hundred 
and fifty years 
later. This no- 
ble edifice, in its 
interior adorn- 
m e n t s , lofty 
nave, broad 
aisles divided by 
y -:, massive stone 
columns, inlaid 
' '■ "■ floor of colored 
marble, altars, 
chapels, and 
choirs, as well as in its grand exterior, 
raised upon a terrace and surmounted by 
majestic towers, is by far the most stately 
and beautiful of all the great buildings of 
Mexico. 




In Puehla de Los Angeles i^i 

Before I reached the huge swinging 
doors, carved and heavily ironed, I knew 
it was Palm Sunday ; for the streets were 
filled with people, each one carrying a 
long thin leaf of the sago palm, and the 
balconies with children twisting the sa- 
cred leaves over the iron railings, to mark 
a blessing for the house until the next 
festival. 

I had crossed the plaza, where I had 
been loitering under the trees, making 
memoranda in my sketch-book of the 
groups of Indians lounging on the benches 
in the shade, and sketching the outlines 
of bunches of little donkeys dozing in the 
sun; and, mounting the raised terrace 
upon which the noble pile is built, found 
myself in the cool, incense-laden interior. 
The aisles were a moving mass of people 
waving palms over their heads, the vista 
looking like great fields of ferns in the 
wind. The service was still in progress, 
and the distant bursts of the organ re- 
sounded at intervals through the arches. 

I wedged my way between the throngs 
of worshippers, — some kneeling, some 
shuffling along, keeping step with the 



1^2 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

crowd, — past the inlaid stalls, exquisite 
carvings, and gilded figures of saints, until 
I reached the door of the sacristy. I al- 
ways search out the sacristy. It contains 
the movable property of the church, and 
as I have a passion for moving it, — when 
the sacristan is of the same mind, — I 
always find it the most attractive corner 
of any sacred interior. 

The room was superb. The walls 
were covered with paintings set in gilded 
frames; the chests of drawers were 
crammed with costly vestments ; two ex- 
quisite tables covered with slabs of onyx 
stood on one side, while upon a raised 
shelf above them were ranged eight su- 
perb Japanese Imari jars, — for water, I 
presumed. 

When I entered, a line of students 
near the door were being robed in white 
starched garments by the sacristan ; groups 
of priests, in twos and threes, some in 
vestments, others in street robes, were 
chatting together on an old settle ; and 
an aged, white-haired bishop was listen- 
ing intently to a young priest dressed in a 
dark purple gown, — both outlined against 



In Puebla de los Angeles i^^ 

an open window. The whole effect re- 
minded me of one of Vibert's pictures. I 
was so absorbed that I remained motion- 
less in the middle of the room, gazing 
awkwardly about. The next moment the 
light was shut out, and I half smothered 
in the folds of a muslin skirt. I had been 
mistaken for a student chorister, and the 
sacristan would have sHpped the garment 
over my head but for my breathless pro- 
test. Had I known the service, I think I 
should have risked the consequences. 

The sacristy opened into the chapter- 
room. The wanderer who thinks he must 
go to Italy to find grand interiors should 
stand at the threshold of this room and 
look in ; or, still better, rest his -weary 
bones for half an hour within the perfectly 
proportioned, vaulted, and domed apart- 
ment, hung w^ith Flemish tapestry and 
covered with paintings, and examine it at 
his leisure. He can select any one of the 
superb old Spanish chairs presented by 
Charles V., thirty-two of which line the 
walls ; then, being rested, he can step into 
the middle of the room, and feast his eyes 
upon a single slab of Mexican onyx cover- 



I ^4 ^ White Umbrella in Mexico 

ing a table large enough for a grand coun- 
cil of bishops. I confess I stood for an 
instant amazed, wondering whether I was 
really in Mexico, across its thousand miles 
of dust, or had wandered into some old 
palace or church in Verona or Padua. 

At the far end of this chapter-room sat 
a grave-looking priest, absorbed in his 
breviary. I approached him, hat in hand. 

" Holy father, I am a stranger and a 
painter. I know the service is in progress, 
and that I should not now intrude ; but 
this room is so beautiful, and my stay in 
Puebla so short, that I must crave your 
permission to enter." 

He laid down his book. "J/"/ amigo^ 
you are welcome. Wander about where 
you will, here and by the altar. You will 
disturb no one. You painters always re- 
vere the church, for within its walls your 
greatest works are held sacred." 

I thought that very neat for a priest 
just awakened from a reverie, and, thank- 
ing him, examined greedily the superb old 
carved chair he had just vacated. I did 
revere the church, and told him so, but 
all the same I coveted the chair, and but 



In Puehla de los Angeles ij^ 

for his compliment and devout air would 
have dared to open negotiations for its 
possession. I reasoned, iconoclast that I 
am, that it would hardly be missed among 
its fellows, and that perhaps one of those 
frightful renovations, constantly taking 
place in Mexican churches, might over- 
take this beautiful room, when new ma- 
hogany horrors might replace these ex- 
quisite relics of the sixteenth century, and 
the whole set be claimed by the second- 
hand man or the wood pile. 

Then I strolled out into the church 
with that vacant air which always marks 
one in a building new to him, — especially 
when it overwhelms him, — gazing up at 
the nave, reading the inscriptions under 
the pictures, and idling about the aisles. 
Soon I came to a confessional box. There 
I sat down behind a protecting column. 
There is a fascination about the con- 
fessional which I can never escape. Here 
sits the old news-gatherer and safe-deposit 
vault of everybody's valuable secrets, 
peaceful and calm within the seclusion of 
his grated cabinet; and here come a 
troop of people, telling him all the good 



I ^6 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

and bad things of their lives, and leaving 
with him for safe-keeping their most pre- 
cious property, — their misdeeds. What 
a, collection of broken bonds, dishonored 
names, and debts of ingratitude must he 
be custodian of ! 

The good father before me was a kindly- 
faced^ plethoric old man ; a little deaf, I 
should judge, from the fanning motion of 
his left hand, forming a sounding-board 
for his ear. About him were, a group of 
penitents, patiently awaiting their turns. 
When I halted and sought the shelter of 
the pillar, the closely veiled and muffled 
figure of a richly dressed senora was bowed 
before him. She remained a few moments, 
and then slipped away, and another figure 
took her place at the grating. 

I raised my eyes wistfully, wondering 
whether I could read the old fellow's face, 
which was in strong light, sufficiently well 
to get some sort of an inkling of her con- 
fidences ; but no cloud of sorrow, or ruffle 
of anger, or gleam of curiosity passed 
over it. It was as expressionless as a 
harvest moon, and placid as a mountain 
lake. At times I even fancied he was 



In Puehla de los Angeles i^y 

asleep ; then his little eyes would open 
slowly and peep out keenly, and I knew 
he had only been assorting and digesting 
his several informations. 

One after another they dropped away 
silently, — the Indian in his zarape, the 
old man in sandals, and the sad -faced 
woman with a black rebozo twisted about 
her throat. Each had prostrated himself, 
and poured through that six inches of 
space the woes that weighed heavy on his 
soul. The good father listened to them 
all. His- patience and equanimity seemed 
marvellous. 

I became so engrossed that I forgot I 
was an eavesdropper, and could make no 
sort of excuse for my vulgar curiosity 
which would satisfy any one upon whose 
privacy I intruded ; and, coming to this 
conclusion, was about to shoulder my trap 
and move off, when I caught sight of a 
short, thick-set young Mexican, muffled 
to his chin in a zarape. He was leaning 
against the opposite column, watching 
earnestly the same confessional box, his 
black, bead - like eyes riveted upon the 
priest. In his hand he held a small red 



I ^8 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

cap, with which he partially concealed his 
face. It was not prepossessing, the fore- 
head being low and receding, and the 
mouth firm and cruel. 

As each penitent turned away, the man 
edged nearer to the priest, with a move- 
ment that attracted me. It was like that 
of an animal slowly yielding to the power 
of a snake. He was now so close that 
I could see great drops of sweat run- 
ning down his temples ; his breath came 
thick and short ; his whole form, sturdy 
fellow as he was, trembled and shook. 
The cap was now clenched in his fist and 
pressed to hi$ breast, — the eyes still fas- 
tened on the priest, and the feet moving a 
few inches at a time. When the last pen- 
itent had laid her face against the grating, 
he fell upon his knees behind her, and 
buried his face in his hands. When she 
was gone, he threw himself forward in her 
place, and clutched the grating with a 
moan that startled me. 

I arose from my seat, edged around the 
pillar, and got the light more clearly on 
the priest's face. It was as calm and se- 
rene as a wooden saint's. 



In Puebla de los Angeles 1^9 

For a few moments the Mexican lay in 
a heap at the grating ; then he raised his 
head, and looked cautiously about him. 
I shrank into the shadow. The face was 
ghastly pale, the lips trembled, the eyes 
started from his head. The priest leaned 
forward wearily, his ear to the iron lat- 
tice. The man's lips began to move ; the 
confession had begun. Both figures re- 
mained motionless, the man whispering 
eagerly, and the priest listening patiently. 
Suddenly the good father started forward, 
bent down, and scanned the man's face 
searchingly through the grating. In an- 
other instant he uttered a half-smothered 
cry of horror, covered his face with the 
sleeve of his robe, and fell back on his 
seat. 

The man edged around on his knees 
from the side grating to the front of the 
confessional, and bowed his head to the 
lower step of the box. For several min- 
utes neither moved. I flattened myself 
against the column, and became a part of 
the architecture. Then the priest, with 
blanched face, leaned forward over the 
half door, and laid his hand on the peni- 



140 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

tent. The man raised his head, clutched 
the top of the half door, bent forward, 
and glued his lips to the priest's ear. I 
reached down noiselessly for my sketch- 
trap, peeled myself from the column as 
one would a wet handbill, and, keeping 
the pillar between me and the confes- 
sional, made a straight line for the sac- 
risty. 

Before I reached the door the priest 
overtook me, crossed the room, and dis- 
appeared through a smaller door in the 
opposite wall. I turned to avoid him, and 
caught sight of the red cap of the Mexican 
pressing his way hurriedly to the street. 
Waiting until he was lost in the throng, I 
drew a long breath, and dropped upon a 
bench. 

The faces of both man and priest 
haunted me. I had evidently been the un- 
suspected witness of one of those strange 
confidences existing in Catholic countries 
between the criminal and the Church. I 
had also been in extreme personal danger. 
A crime so terrible that the bare recital 
of it shocked to demoralization so unim- 
pressionable a priest as the good father 



In Puehla de los Angeles 141 

was safe in his ear alone. Had there 
been a faint suspicion in the man's mind 
that I had overheard any part of his 
story, my position would have been dan- 
gerous. 

But what could have been the crime ? 
I reflected that even an inquiry looking 
towards its solution would be equally 
hazardous, and so tried to banish the in- 
cident from my mind. 

A jar upon the other end of the bench 
awoke me from my reverie. A pale, 
neatly dressed, sad-looking young fellow 
had just sat down. He apologized for 
disturbing me, and the courtesy led to his 
moving up to my end. 

" English ? " 

"No, from New York." 

"What do you sell?" 

"Nothing. I paint. This trap con- 
tains my canvas and colors. What do 
you do ? " I asked. 

"I am a clerk in the Department of 
Justice. The office is closed to-day, and 
I have come into the church out of the 
heat, because it is cool." 

I sounded him carefully, was convinced 



142 A White Umhrella in Mexico 

of his honesty, and related the incident 
of the confessional. He was not sur- 
prised. On the contrary, he recounted to 
me many similar instances in his own ex- 
perience, explaining that it is quite nat- 
ural for a man haunted by a crime to 
seek the quiet of a church, and that often 
the relief afforded by the confessional 
wrings from him his secret. No doubt 
my case was one of these. 
" And is the murderer safe .? " 
" From the priest, yes. The police 
agents, however, always watch the 
churches." 

While we were speaking an officer 
passed, bowed to my companion, retraced 
his steps, and said, " There has been an 
important arrest. You may perhaps be 
wanted." 

I touched the speaker's arm. " Par- 
don me. Was it made near the cathe- 
dral ? " 

"Yes ; outside the great door." 
" What was the color of his cap ? " 
He turned sharply, looked at mesearch- 
ingly, and said, lowering his voice, — 
" Red." 



In Puehla de los Angeles 143 



A few days later I wandered into the 
market-place, in search of a subject. My 
difficulty was simply one of selection. I 
could have opened my easel at random 
and made half a dozen sketches without 
leaving my stool j but where there is so 
much wealth of material one is apt to be 
over-critical, and, being anxious to pick 
out the best, often loses the esprit of the 
first impression, and so goes away without 
a line. It was not the fault of the day or 
the market. The sun was brilliant beyond 
belief, the sky superb; the open square 
of the older section was filled with tumble- 
down bungalow - like sheds, hung with 
screens of patched matting ; the side- 
walks were fringed with giant thatched 
umbrellas, picturesque in the extreme; 
the costumes were rich and varied: all 
this and more, and yet I was not satis- 
fied. Outside the slanting roofs, heaped 
up on the pavement, lay piles of green 
vegetables, pottery, and fruit, glistening 
in the dazzling light. Inside the booths 
hung festoons of bright stuffs, rebozos 
2ind paTitielos, gray and cool by contrast. 
Thronging crowds of natives streamed in 



144 ^ White Umbrella in Mexico 

and out the sheds, blocked up narrow 
passageways, grouped m the open, and 
disappeared into the black shadows of an 
inviting archway, beyond which an even 
crisper sunlight glowed in dabs, spots, 
and splashes of luxuriant color. 




There was everything, in fact, to intox- 
icate a man in search of the picturesque, 
and yet I idled along without opening my 
sketch-book, and for more than an hour 
lugged my trap about : deciding on a group 
under the edge of the archway, with a 
glimpse of blue in the sky and the towers 
of the church beyond; abandoning that 
instantly for a long stretch of street lead- 



In Puehla de los Angeles 14^ 



ing out of a square dotted with donkeys 
waiting to be unloaded ; and concluding, 
finally, to paint some high-wheeled carts, 
only to relinquish them all for something 
else. 

I continued, I say, to waste thus fool- 
ishly my precious time, until, dazed and 
worn out, I turned on my heel, hailed a 
cab, and drove to the old Paseo. There 
I entered the little plazuela, embowered 
in trees, sat down opposite the delightful 
old church of San Francisco, and was at 
work in five minutes. When one is daz- 
zled by a sunset, let him shut his eyes. 
After the blaze of a Mexican market, try 
the quiet grays of a seventeenth-century 
church, seen through soft foliage and 
across cool, shady walks. 

This church of San Francisco is another 
of the delightful old churches of Puebla. 
I regret that the fiend with the bucket and 
the flat brush has practically destroyed al- 
most the whole interior except the choir, 
which is still exquisite with its finely 
carved wooden stalls and rich organ, — 
but I rejoice that the outside, with its 
quaint altar fronting on the plazuela fa- 



/^6 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

gade of dark brick ornamented with pan- 
els of Spanish tiles, stone carvings, stat- 
ues, and lofty towers, is still untouched, 
and hence beautiful. 

Adjoining the church is a military hos- 
pital and barracks, formerly an old con- 
vent. I was so wholly wrapped up in my 
work that my water-cup needed refilling 
before I looked up and about me. To 
my surprise, I was nearly surrounded by 
a squad of soldiers and half a dozen offi- 
cers. One fine-looking old fellow, with 
gray moustache and pointed beard, stood 
so close that my elbow struck his knee 
when I arose. 

The first thought that ran through my 
head was my experience of Sunday, and 
my unpardonable imprudence in impart- 
ing my discoveries of the confessional to 
the sad-faced young man on the bench. 
Tracked, of course, I concluded, — ar- 
rested in the streets, and held as a wit- 
ness on bread and pulque for a week. 
No passport, and an alibi out of the ques- 
tion ! A second glance reassured me. 
The possessor of the pointed beard only 
smiled cordially, apologized, and seated 



In Puehla de los Angeles 147 

himself on the bench at my right. His 
intentions were the most peaceful. It 
was the growing picture that absorbed 
him and his fellow-ofhcers and men. They 
had merely deployed noiselessly in my 
rear, to find out what the deuce the 
stranger was doing under that white um- 
brella. Only this, and nothing more. 

I was not even permitted to fill my 
water-bottle. A sign from my friend, and 
a soldier, with his arm in a sling, ran 
to the fountain, returned in a flash, and 
passed the bottle back to me with so rev- 
erential an air that but for the deep ear- 
nestness of his manner I should have 
laughed aloud. He seemed to regard the 
water-bottle as the home of the witch that 
worked the spell. 

After that the circle was narrowed, and 
my open cigarette-case added a touch of 
good fellowship, everybody becoming quite 
cozy and sociable. The officer was in 
command of the barracks. His brother 
officers — one after another was intro- 
duced with much form and manner — 
were on duty at the hospital except one, 
who was in command of the department of 



148 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

police of the city. A slight chill ran down 
my spine, but I returned the command- 
ant's bow with a smile that established 
at once the absolute purity of my life. 

For two hours, in the cool of the morn- 
ing, under the trees of the little plaziiela^ 
this charming episode continued ; I paint- 
ing, the others around me deeply inter- 
ested ; all smoking, and chatting in the 
friendliest possible way. At the sound of 
a bugle the men dropped away, and soon 
after all the officers bowed and disap- 
peared, except my friend with the pointed 
beard and the commandant of the police. 
These two moved their bench nearer, and 
sat down, determined to watch the sketch 
to the end. 

The conversation drifted into different 
channels. The system of policing the 
streets at night was explained to me, the 
manner of arrest, the absolute authority 
given to the jefe politico in the rural dis- 
tricts, — an execution first, and an inves- 
tigation afterwards, — the necessity for 
such prompt action in a country abound- 
ing in bandits, the success of the govern- 
ment in suppressing the evil, etc. 



In Ptiehla de los Angeles i4g 

" And are the crimes confined wholly to 
the country districts ? " I asked. " Are 
your cities safe ? " 

" Generally, yes. Occasionally there is 
a murder among the lower classes of the 
people. It is not always for booty ; re- 
venge for some real or fancied injury 
often prompts it." 

" Has there been any particularly bru- 
tal crime committed here lately ? " I asked 
carelessly, skirting the edge of my preci- 
pice. 

" Not exactly here. There was one at 
Atlixco, a small town a few miles west of 
here, but the man escaped." 

" Have you captured him ? " 

" Not yet. There was a man arrested 
here a few days ago, who is now await- 
ing examination. It may be that we have 
the right one. We shall know to-mor- 
row." 

I kept at work, dabbing away at the 
mass of foliage, and putting in pats of 
shadow tones. 

" Was it the man arrested near the ca- 
thedral on Palm Sunday ? " 

"There was a man arrested on Palm 



T^o A White Umbrella in Mexico 

Sunday," he replied slowly, " How did 
you know ? " 

I looked up, and found his eyes riveted 
on me in a peculiar, penetrating way. 

" I heard it spoken of in the church," 
I replied, catching my breath. My foot 
went over the precipice. I could see into 
the pit below. 

"If the American heard of it," said he 
in a low voice, turning to my friend, " it 
was badly done." 

I filled a fresh brush with color, leaned 
over my canvas, and before I looked up a 
second time had regained my feet and 
crawled back to a safe spot. — I could 
hear the stones go rumbling down into 
the abyss beneath me. Then I concen- 
trated myself upon the details of the fa- 
cade, and the officer began explaining the 
early history of the founding of the church, 
and the many vicissitudes it had experi- 
enced in the great battles which had raged 
around its towers. By the time he had fin- 
ished the cold look went out of his eyes. 

The sketch was completed, the trap 
bundled up, three hats were raised, and 
we separated. 



In Piiehla de los Angeles i^i 

I thought of the horror-stricken face of 
the priest and the crouching figure of the 
Mexican; then I thought of that pene- 
trating, steel-like glance of the command- 
ant. 

So far as I know the priest alone shares 
the secret. 




^^' ^ "'^, 



CHAPTER IX. 



A DAY IN TOLUCA. 



Hitherto my travels, with the excep- 
tion of a divergence to Puebla, have been 
in a straight line south, beginning at the 
frontier town of El Paso, stopping at Za- 
catecas, Aguas Calientes, Silao, Guana- 
juato, and Queretaro, — all important cities 
on the line of the Mexican Central Rail- 
road, — and ending at the city of Mexico, 
some twelve hundred miles nearer the 
equator. 

It is true that I have made a flying trip 
over the Mexican Railway, passing under 
the shadow of snow-capped Orizaba, have 



A Day in Toliica i^^ 

looked down into the deep gorges of the 
Infiernillo reeking with the hot humid air 
of the tropics, and have spent one night 
in the fever-liaunted city of Vera Cruz ; 
but my experiences were confined to such 
as could be enjoyed from the rear platform 
of a car, to a six by nine room in a stuffy 
hotel, and to a glimpse at night of the sea, 
impelled by a norther, rolling in from the 
Gulf and sousing the quay incumbered 
with surf boats. Had I been a bird belated 
in the autumn, I could have seen more. 

This bright April morning I have 
shaken the dust of the great city from my 
feet, and have bent my steps westward to- 
wards the Pacific. In common parlance, 
I have bought a first-class ticket for as 
far as the national railroad will take me, 
and shall come bump up against the pres- 
ent terminus at Patzcuaro. 

On my way west I shall stop at Toluca, 
an important city some fifty miles down 
the road, tarry a while at Morelia, the most 
delightful of all the cities of western Mex- 
ico, and come to a halt at Patzcuaro. In 
all some three hundred miles from where 
I sit in the station and look out my car 



1^4 ^ l^hite Umbrella in Mexico, 

window. I am particular about these 
distances. 

At Patzcuaro I shall find a lake bear- 
ing the same name. Up this lake, nearly 
to the end, an Indian adobe village, at the 
end of the village a tumbling-down church 
and convent, within this convent a clois- 
ter, leading out of the cloister a narrow 
passage ending in a low-ceiled room with 
its one window protected by an iron 
grating. Through this fretwork of rusty 
iron the light streams in, falling, I am 
told, upon one of the priceless treasures 
of the world — an Entombment by Titian. 

This, if you please, is why my course 
points due west. 

The scenery along the line of the road 
from the City of Mexico to where the di- 
vide is crossed at la Cima — some ten 
thousand feet above the level of the sea, 
and thence down into the Toluca valley — 
was so inexpressibly grand that I was 
half the time in imminent danger of deco- 
rating a telegraph pole with my head, in 
my eagerness to enjoy it. 

Great masonry dams hold back lakes 



A Day in Toluca 



'35 



of silver shimmering in the sunlight ; deep 
gorges lie bottomless in purple shadows ; 
wide stretches of table-land end in vol- 
canoes ragged, dead, and creviced with 




snow ; and sharp craggy peaks, tumbling 
waterfalls, and dense semi-tropical jun- 
gles start up and out and from under me 
at every curve. 

On reaching the valley of Toluca, the 
road as it nears the red-tiled roofs of the 
city follows the windings of the river Ler- 
ma, its banks fringed with natives bath- 
ing. On reaching the city itself the clean. 



I ^6 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

well-dressed throng at the depot explains 
at a glance the value of this stream apart 
from its irrigating properties. 

And the city is clean, with a certain 
well-planned, well-built, and orderly air 
about it, and quite a modern air too. 
Remembering a fine gray dust which 
seems to be a part of the very air one 
breathes, and the great stretches of gar- 
dens filled with trees, and the long drought 
continuing for months, I should say that 
the prevailing color of Toluca's vegeta- 
tion is a light mullein-stalk green. Then 
the houses are a dusty pink, the roofs a 
dusty red, and the streets and sidewalks a 
dusty yellow, and the sky always and ever, 
from morn till night, a dusty blue. It is 
the kind of a place Cazin, the great 
French impressionist, would revel in. So 
subtle and exquisite are the grays and 
their harmonies that one false note from 
your palette sets your teeth on edge. 

But Toluca is not by any means a mod- 
ern city, despite its apparent newness, its 
air of prosperity, and its generally brushed- 
up appearance. It is one of the oldest of 
the Spanish settlements. No less a per- 



A Day in Toluca 757 

sonage than the great Cortez himself re- 
ceived its site, and a comfortable slice of 
the surrounding country thrown in, as a 
present, from his king. In fact it is but a 
few years, not twenty, since the govern- 
ment pulled down the very house once oc- 
cupied by the conqueror's son, Don Mar- 
tin Cortez, and built upon its site the 
present imposing state buildings fronting 
the plaza major. 

This pulling down and rebuilding proc- 
ess is quite fashionable in Toluca, and has 
extended even to its churches. The prim- 
itive church of San Francisco was replaced 
by a larger structure of stone in 1585, and 
this in turn by an important building 
erected in the seventeenth century; and 
yet these restless people, as if cramped 
for room, levelled this edifice to the ground 
in 1874 and started upon its ruins what 
purposes to be a magnificent temple, judg- 
ing from the acres it covers. In fourteen 
years it has grown twelve feet high. Some 
time during the latter part of the next 
century they will be slating the roof. 

Then there are delightful markets, and a 
fine bull-ring, and in the suburbs a pretty 



1^8 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

alameda full of matted vines and over- 
grown walks, besides two gorgeous thea- 
tres. Altogether Toluca is quite worth 
dusting oif to see, even if it does not look 
as old as the Pyramids or as dilapidated 
as an Arab town. 

In all this newness there is one spot 
which refreshes you like a breeze from 
afar. It is the little chapel of Nuestra 
Senora del Carmen, laden with the quaint- 
ness, the charm, and the dust of the six- 
teenth century. It has apparently never 
yet occurred to any Tolucian to retouch 
it, and my only fear in calling attention 
to it now is, that during the next annual 
spring-cleaning the man with the bucket 
will smother its charm in whitewash. 

It was high noon when I sallied out 
from my lodgings to look for this forgot- 
ten rehc of the past. I had spent the 
morning with that ubiquitous scapegrace 
Moon, whom I had met in Zacatecas some 
weeks before and who had run up to To- 
luca on some business connected with the 
road. He nearly shook my arm oif when 
he ran against me in the market, inquired 
after the chair, vowed I should not wet a 



A Day in Toluca r^g 

brush until I broke bread with him, and 
would have carried me off bodily to break- 
fast had I not convinced him that no man 
could eat two meals half an hour apart. 
He was delighted that I could find noth- 
ing, as he expressed it, " rickety " enough 
to paint in Toluca, and then relenting led 
me up to a crack in a crooked street, 
pointed ahead to the chapel, and deserted 
me with the remark : — 

" Try that. It is as musty as a cheese, 
and about a million years old." 

I passed through a gate, entered the sa- 
cred building, and wandered out into a 
patio or sort of cloister. Instantly the 
world and its hum was gone. It was a 
small cloister, square, paved with marble 
flags, and open to the blue sky above. Be- 
neath the arches, against the wall, hung a 
few paintings, old and weather-stained. 
Opposite from where I stood was an open 
door. I crossed the quadrangle and en- 
tered a cozily furnished apartment. The 
ceiling was low and heavily beamed, the 
floor laid in brick tiles, and the walls 
faced with shelves loaded with books 
bound in vellum with titles labelled in ink. 



j6o a White Umbrella in Mexico 

Over the door was an unframed picture, 
evidently a Murillo, and against the op- 
posite wall hung several large copies of 
Ribera. In one corner under a grated 
window rested an iron bedstead, — but 
recently occupied, — and near it an arm- 
chair with faded velvet cushions. A low 
table covered with books and manuscripts, 
together with a skull, candle, and rosary, 
a copper basin and pitcher, and a few 
chairs completed the interior comforts. 
Over the bed, within arm's reach, hung 
a low shelf upon which stood a small glass 
cup holding a withered rose. The cup was 
dry and the flower faded and dust covered. 

A second and smaller room opened out 
to the left. I pushed aside the curtains 
and looked in. It was unoccupied like 
the first. As I turned hurriedly to leave 
the apartments my eye fell upon a copy 
of Medina's works bound in vellum, yel- 
low and crinkled, the backs tied by a 
leathern string. I leaned forward to note 
the date. Suddenly the light was shut 
out, and from the obstructed doorway 
came a voice quick and sharp. 

" What does the stranger want with the 



A Day in Toluca i6i 

padre's books ? " I looked up and saw a 
man holding a bunch of keys. The situa- 
tion was unpleasant. Without changing 
my position, I lifted the book from the 
shelf and carefully read the title-page. 

" Will he be gone long ? " I answered, 
slowly replacing the volume. 

"You are waiting, then, for Fray Ge- 
ronimo ? Many pardons, senor, I am the 
sacristan. I will find the padre and bring 
him to you." 

I sank into the armchair. Retreat now 
was impossible. This will do for the sac- 
ristan I thought, but how about the priest ? 

In a moment more I caught the sound 
of quickening footsteps crossing the patio, 
the side of the sacristan stood a bare- 
headed young priest, dressed in a white 
robe which reached to his feet. He had 
deep-set\ eyes, which were intensely dark, 
and a skin of ivory whiteness. With a 
kindly smile upon his handsome intellect- 
ual face, he came forward and said : — 

" Do you want me ? " 

I laid my course in an instant. 

"Yes, holy father," I replied, rising, "to 
crave your forgiveness. I am an Ameri- 



1 62 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

can and a painter ; see, here is my sketch- 
book. I entered your open door, believ- 
ing it would lead me to the street. The 
Murillo, the Riberas, the wonderful col- 
lection of old books, more precious than 
any I have ever seen in all Mexico, over- 
came me. I love these things, and could 
not resist the temptation of tarrying long 
enough to feast my eyes." 

" Mi amigo, do not be disturbed. It is 
all right. You can go, Pedro," — this to 
the sacristan. *' I love them too. Let us 
look them over together." 

For more than an hour we examined 
the contents of the curious library. Al- 
most without an exception each book was 
a rare volume. There were rows of eccle- 
siastical works in Latin with red lettered 
title-pages printed in Antwerp. Two 
editions of Don Quixote with copper 
plates, published in Madrid in 1760, be- 
sides a varied collection of the early Mexi- 
can writers including Alarcon, the drama- 
tist, and Gongora, the poet-philosopher. 

Then in the same gracious manner he 
mounted a chair and took from the wall 
the unframed Murillo, " A Flight into 



A Day in Toluca i6^ 

Egypt," and placed it in the light, saying 
that it had formerly belonged to an ances- 
tor and not to the church, and that believ- 
ing it to be the genuine work of the great 
master, he had brought it with him when 
he came to Toluca, the face of the Ma- 
donna being especially dear to him. Next 
he unlocked a closet and brought me an 
ivory crucifix of exquisite workmanship, 
the modelUng of the feet and hands re- 
calling the best work of the Italian school. 
He did not return this to the closet, but 
placed it upon the little shelf over his bed 
close to the dry cup which held the with- 
ered rose. In the act the flower slipped 
From the glass. Noticing how carefully 
iibxmoved the cup aside, and how tenderly 
he itolaced the shrivelled bud, I said 
laughingly : — 

" You\ot only love old books, but old 
flowers as well." 

He looked at me thoughtfully, and re- 
plied gravely : — 

"Some flowers are never old." 

In the glare of the sunlight of the street 
I met Moon. He had been searching for 
me for an hour. 



164 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

" Did you find that hole in the wall ? " 
he called out. *' Come over here where 
the wind can blow through you. You 
must feel like a grave-digger. Where is 
your sketch ? " 

I had no sketch and told him so. The 
interior was in truth delightfully pictur- 
esque, but the young priest was so charm- 
ing that I had not even opened my trap. 

" What sort of a looking priest 1 " 

I described him as closely as I could. 

" It sounds like Geronimo. Yes — 
same priest." 

" Well — 1 " 

" Oh ! the old story and a sad one. 
Gray dawn — muffled figures — obliging 
duenna — diligence — governor on horse- 
back — girl locked up in a hacienda — 
student forced into the church. Queer 
things happen in Mexico, my boy, and 
cruel ones too." 




CHAPTER X. 



TO MORELIA WITH MOON. 



,MooN insists on going to Morelia with 
me.\ He has a number of reasons for this 
sudden resolve : that the senoritas are 
especiall]^ charming and it is dangerous 
for me to go alone ; that he knows the 
sacristan major of the cathedral and can 
buy for me for a song the entire movable 
property of the church ; that there is a 
lovely alameda overgrown with wild roses, 
and that it is so tangled up and crooked 
I will lose the best part of it if he does 



1 66 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

not pilot me about; and finally, when I 
demur, that he has received a dispatch 
from his chief to meet him in Morelia on 
the morrow, and he must go anyhow. 

He appears the next morning in a 
brown linen suit, with the same old som- 
brero slanted over one eye, and the loose 
end of his necktie tossed over his shoul- 
der. On the way to the station he holds a 
dozen interviews with citizens occupying 
balconies along the route. He generally 
conducts these from the middle of the 
street, pitching his voice to suit the eleva- 
tion. Then he deflects to the sidewalk, 
runs his head into the door of a posada, 
wakes up the inmates with a volley of sal- 
utations, bobs out again, hails by name the 
driver of a tram, and when he comes to 
a standstill calls out that he has changed 
his mind and will walk, and so arrives at 
the station bubbling over with good hu- 
mor, and as restless as a schoolboy. 

I cannot help liking this breezy fellow 
despite his piratical air, his avowed con- 
tempt for all the laws that govern well-reg- 
ulated society, and his professed unbelief 
in the sincerity of everybody's motives. 



To Morelia with Moon 1 67 

His acquaintance is marvellous. He 
knows everybody, from the water-carrier 
to the archbishop. He speaks not only 
Spanish but half a dozen native dialects 
picked up from the Indians while he was 
constructing the railroad. He has lived in 
every town and village on the line ; knows 
Morelia, Patzcuaro, Tzintziintzan, and the 
lake as thoroughly as he does his own 
abiding-place at Zacatecas ; is perfectly 
familiar with all the mountain trails and 
short cuts across plains and foothills ; is 
a born tramp, the best of Bohemians, and 
the most entertaining travelling compan- 
ion possible. 

\ His baggage is exceedingly limited. It 
colasists of a tooth-brush, two collars, and 
a bundle of cigars. He replies to my re- 
marks bin its compactness, that " anybody's 
shirts fir him, and that he has plenty of 
friends up the road." And yet with all 
this there is something about the fearless 
way in which he looks you straight in the 
eye, and something about the firm lines 
around his mouth, that, in spite of his 
devil-may-care recklessness, convinces you 
of his courage and sincerity. 



1 68 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

" Crawl over here," he breaks out from 
the end of the car, " and see this hacienda. 
Every square acre you see, including that 
range of mountains, belongs to one Mexi- 
can. It covers exactly one hundred and 
twenty square miles. The famished pau- 
per who owns it has taken five millions of 
dollars from it during the last fifteen 
years. For the next eighteen miles you 
will ride through his land." 

" Does he live here ? " I inquired. 

"No, he knows better. He lives in 
Paris like a lord, and spends every cent 
of it." 

We were entering the lake country, and 
caught glimpses of Cuitzo shimmering 
through the hills. 

" These shores are alive with wild fowl," 
continued Moon ; " there goes a flight of 
storks now. You can bag a pelican and 
half a dozen flamingoes any morning 
along here before breakfast. But you 
should see the Indians hunt. They never 
use a gun when they go ducking. They 
tie a sharp knife to a long pole and spear 
the birds as they fly over. When they 
fish they strew green boughs along the 



To Morelia with Moon i6g 

water's edge, and when the fish seek the 
shade, scoop them up with a dip net made 
from the fibre of the pulque plant. This 
country has changed but little since that 
old pirate Cortez took possession of it, 
as far as the Indians go. Many of them 
cannot understand a word of Spanish now, 
and I had to pick up their jargon myself, 
when I was here." 

" Hello, Goggles ! " he shouted out, 
suddenly jumping from his seat as the 
train stopped. I looked out and saw a 
poor blind beggar, guided by a boy with 
a stick. 

" I thought you were dead long ago." 
In a moment more he was out of the 
train and had the old man by the hand. 
When he turned away, I could see by the 
way the blind face lighted up that he had 
made him the richer in some way. The 
boy too seemed overjoyed, and would 
have left his helpless charge in the push- 
ing crowd but for Moon, who snatched 
away the leading stick, and placed it in 
the beggar's hand again. Then he fell to 
berating the boy for his carelessness, with- 
out, however, diminishing in the least the 



lyo A White Umbrella in Mexico 

latter's good humor, raising his voice un- 
til the car windows were filled with heads. 

All this in a dialect that was wholly un- 
intelligible. 

"You know the beggar," I remarked. 

"Of course. Old Tizapan. Lost his 
eyes digging in a silver mine. That little 
devil is his grandson. If I had my way 
I would dig a hole and fill it up with 
these cripples." 

When we reached Morelia it was quite 
dark, and yet it was difficult to get Moon 
out of the station, so many people had 
a word to say to him. When we arrived 
at the hotel fronting the plaza he was 
equally welcome, everybody greeting him. 

It was especially delightful to see the 
landlord. He first fell upon his neck and 
embraced hirn, then stood off at a dis- 
tance and admired him with his arms 
akimbo, drinking in every word of Moon's 
raillery. At the bare mention of dinner, 
he rushed off and brought in the cook 
whom Moon addressed instantly as Grid- 
dles, running from Spanish into English 
and French, and back again into Spanish, 
in the most surprising way. 



To Morelia with Moon lyi 

"We will have a Mexican dinner for the 
painter, Griddles ! No boji bouche, but a 
square meal, tm buena comida ! magnifica I 
especially some little fish baked in corn 
husks, peppers stuffed with tomatoes with 
plenty of chile, an onion salad with garlic, 
stewed figs, and a cup of Uruapam coffee, 
— the finest in the world," — this last to 
me. 

Later all these were duly served and 
deliciously cooked, and opened my eyes 
to the resources of a Mexican kitchen when 
ordered by an expert. 

In the morning Moon started for his 
friend the sacristan. He found him up a 
long flight of stone steps in one end of 
the cathedral. But he was helpless, even 
for Moon. We must find Padre Bailo, who 
lived near the Zocolo. He had the keys 
and charge of all the wornout church 
property. Another long search across 
plazas and in and out of market stalls, 
and Padre Bailo was encountered leaving 
his house on his way back to the cathe- 
dral. But it was impossible. Manana 
por la manana, or perhaps next week, but 
not to-day. Moon took the dried-up old 



iy2 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

fossil aside, and brought him back in five 
minutes smiling all over with a promise 
to unlock everything on my return from 
Patzcuaro. 

" Now for the alameda. It is the most 
delightful old tangle in Mexico : rose- 
trees as high as a house ; by-paths over- 
grown with vines and lost in beds of vio- 
lets ; stone benches galore ; through the 
centre an aqueduct so light it might be 
built of looped ribbons ; and such seno- 
ritas ! I met a girl under one of those 
arches who would have taken your breath 
away. She had a pair of eyes, and a foot, 
and " — 

" Never mind what the girl had, Moon. 
We may find her yet on one of the 
benches and I will judge for myself. 
Show me the alameda." 

" Come on, then." 

At the end of a beautiful street nearly 
half a mile long, — in reality a raised stone 
causeway with stone parapets and stone 
benches on either side, and shaded its en- 
tire length by a double row of magnificent 
elms, — I found the abandoned Paseo de 
las Lechugas (the street of the Lettuces). 



To Morelia with Moon ly^ 

Moon had not exaggerated the charm 
of its surroundings. Acacias and elms 
interlaced their branches across the walks, 
roses ran riot over the stone benches, 
twisted their stems in and out of the rail- 
ings, and tossed their blossoms away up 
in the branches of the great trees. High 
up against the blue, the graceful aqueduct 
stepped along on his slender legs tram- 
pling the high grass, and through and into 
and over all, the afternoon sun poured its 
flood of gold. 

The very unkempt deserted air of the 
place added to its beauty. It looked as 
if the forces of nature, no longer checked, 
had held high revel, and in their glee had 
well-nigh effaced all trace of closely 
cropped hedge, rectangular flower-bed, 
and fantastic shrub. The very poppies 
had wandered from their beds and stared 
at me from the roadside with brazen faces, 
and the once dignified tiger -lilies had 
turned tramps and sat astride of the 
crumbling curbs, nodding gayly at me as 
I passed. 

" Did I not tell you ? " broke out Moon. 
" How would you like to be lost in a tan- 



1^4 ^ White Umbrella in Mexico 

gle like this for a month with a Fatinitza 
all eyes and perfume, with little Hotten- 
tots to serve you ices, and fan you with 
peacock tails ? " 

I admitted my inability to offer any 
valid objection to any such delicious ex- 
perience, and intimated that, but for one 
obstacle, he could bring on his Hotten- 
tots and trimmings at once — I was en 
route for Patzcuaro, Tzintziintzan, and the 
Titian. 

This was news to Moon. He had ex- 
pected Patzcuaro, that being the terminus 
of the greatest railroad of the continent, 
— P. Moon, Civil Engineer, — but what 
any sane man wanted to wander around 
looking for a dirty adobe Indian village 
like Tzintziintzan, away up a lake, with 
nothing but a dug-out to paddle there in, 
and not a place to put your head in after 
you landed, was a mystery to him. Be- 
sides, who said there was any Titian ? At 
all events, I might stay in Morelia until 
I could find my way around alone. The 
Titian had already hung there three hun- 
dred years, he thought it would hold out 
for a day or two longer. 



To Morelia with Moon 775 

So we continued rambling about this 
most delightful of all the Mexican cities ; 
across the plaza of La Paz at night ; sit- 
ting under the trees listening to the mu- 
sic, and watching the love-making on the 
benches ; in the cathedral at early mass, 
stopping for fruit and a cup of coffee at 
the market on the way ; through the col- 
lege of San Nicholas where Fray Gero- 
nimo had studied; to the governor's 
house to listen to a concert and to present 
ourselves to his excellency, who had sent 
for us ; to the great pawn-shop, the Monte 
de Piedad, on the regular day of sale, and 
to the thousand and one delights of this 
dolce far niente city; returning always at 
sundown to the inn, to be welcomed by 
the landlord, who shouted for Griddles the 
moment he laid eyes on Moon, and began 
spreading the cloth on the little table un- 
der the fig-tree in the garden. 

After this Bohemian existence had 
lasted for several days I suddenly remem- 
bered that Moon had not been out of my 
sight five waking minutes, and being anx- 
ious for his welfare, I ventured to jog his 
memory. 



iy6 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

"Moon, did you not tell me that you 
came here on orders from your chief, who 
wanted you on urgent business and was 
waiting for you ? " 

" Yes." 

" Have you seen him ? " 

" No." 

" Heard from him .? " 

" No. " 

" What are you going to do about it ? " 

*' Let him wait." 



^WR^ "■■*"*' 




CHAPTER XI. 

PATZCUARO AND THE LAKE. 

When I rapped at Moon's door the 
next morning he refused to open it. He 
apologized for this refusal by roaring 
through the transom that the thought of 
my leaving him alone in Morelia had 
caused him a sleepless night, and that he 
had determined never to look upon my 
face again ; that he had " never loved a 
dear gazelle," etc., — this last sung in a 
high key ; that he was not coming out ; 
and that I might go to Patzcuaro and be 
hanged to me. 

So the landlord and Griddles escorted 



iy8 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

me to the station, the chef carrying my 
traps, and the landlord a mysterious bas- 
ket with a suggestive bulge in one corner 
of the paper covering. As the train 
moved slowly out, this basket was passed 
through the window with a remark that 
Mr. Moon had prepared it the night be- 
fore, with especial instructions not to de- 
liver it until I was under way. On remov- 
ing the covering the bulge proved to be 
glass, with a tin foil covering the cork, on 
top of which was a card bearing the 
superscription of my friend, with a line 
stating that "charity of the commonest 
kind had influenced him in this attempt 
to keep me from starving during my idi- 
otic search for the Titian, that the dulces 
beneath were the pride of Morelia, the 
fruit quite fresh, and the substratum 
of sandwiches the best Griddles could 
make." 

I thanked the cheery fellow in my heart, 
forgave him his eccentricities, and won- 
dered whether I should ever see his like 
again. 

An hour later I had finished the cus- 
tomary inventory of the car : the padre 



Paticuaro and the Lake tyg 

very moist and very dusty as if he had 
reached the station from afar, mule-back; 
the young Hidalgo with buckskin jacket, 
red sash, open slashed buckskin breeches 
with silver buttons of bulls' heads down 
the seam, wide sombrero, and the ivory 
handle of a revolver protruding from his 
hip pocket ; the two demure senoritas 
dressed in black with veils covering their 
heads and shoulders, attended by the 
stout duenna on the adjoining seat with 
fat pudgy hands, hoop earrings, and rest- 
less eyes; the old Mexican, thin, yellow, 
and dried up, with a cigarette glued to 
his lower lip. 

I had looked them all over carefully, 
speculating as one does over their several 
occupations and antecedents, and feeling 
the loss of my encyclopaedic friend in 
unravelling their several conditions, when 
the door of the car immediately in front 
of me opened, and that ubiquitous in- 
dividual himself slowly sauntered in, his 
cravat flying, and his big sombrero flat- 
tened against the back of his head. The 
only change in his costume had been the 
replacing of his brown linen suit with one 



i8o A White Umbrella in Mexico 

of a fine blue check, newly washed and 
ironed in streaks. From his vest pocket 
protruded his customary baggage, — the 
ivory handle and the points of two cigars. 

" Why, Moon ! " I blurted out, com- 
pletely surprised. " Where did you come 
from ? " 

"Baggage car — had a nap. Got thd 
basket, I see." 

" I left you in bed," I continued. 

"You didn't. Was shivering on the 
outside waiting for the landlord's clothes. 
How do they fit? Left mine to be 
washed." 

" Where are you going .? " I insisted, 
determined not to be side-tracked. 

" To Patzcuaro." Then with a merry 
twinkle in his eye he leaned forward, 
canted his sombrero over his left eye, and 
shading his mouth with its brim whis- 
pered confidentially, "You see, I got a 
dispatch from my chief to meet him in 
Patzcuaro, and I managed by hurrying a 
little to catch this train." 

Patzcuaro lies on a high hill overlook- 
ing the lake. The beautiful sheet of wa- 
ter at its foot, some twenty miles long 



Paticuaro and the Lake i8i 

and ten wide, is surrounded by forest- 
clad hills and studded with islands, and 
peopled almost exclusively by Indians, 
who support themselves by fishing. 

The town is built upon hilly broken 
ground, the streets are narrow and crook- 
ed, and thoroughly Moorish in their char- 
acter, and the general effect picturesque 
in the extreme. 

On alighting from the train it was evi- 
dent that the progressiveness of the nine- 
teenth century ended at the station. 
Drawn up in the road stood a lumbering 
stage-coach and five horses. It was as 
large as a country barn, and had enor- 
mous wheels bound with iron and as 
heavy as an artillery wagon's. In front, 
there hung a boot made of leather an 
inch thick, with a multitude of straps and 
buckles. Behind, a similar boot, with 
more straps and buckles. On top was 
fastened an iron railing, protecting an 
immense load of miscellaneous freight. 
There was also a flight of steps that let 
down in sections, with a hand-rail to as- 
sist the passenger. Within and without, 
on cushions, sides, curtains, over top, bag- 



1 82 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

gage, wheels, driver, horses, and harness 
the gray dust lay in layers, — not sifted 
over it, but piled up in heaps. 

The closest scrutiny on my companion's 
part failed to reveal the existence of any- 
thing resembling a spring made either of 
leather, rawhide, or steel. This last was a 
disappointment to Moon, who said that 
occasionally some coaches were built that 
way. 

But two passengers entered it, — Moon 
and I ; the others, not being strangers, 
walked. The distance to the town from 
the station is some two miles, up hill. It 
was not until my trap rose from the floor, 
took a flying leap across the middle of the 
seat, and landed edgewise below Moon's 
breastbone, that I began to fully realize 
how badly the authorities had neglected 
the highway. Moon coincided, remarking 
that they had evidently blasted it out in 
the rough, but the pieces had not been 
gathered up. 

We arrived first, entering the arcade of 
the Fonda Concordia afoot, the coach 
lumbering along later minus half its top 
freight. 



Paticiiaro and the Lake i8^ 



A cup of coffee, — none better than this 
native coffee, — an omelet with peppers, 
and some 
fruit, and 
Moon start- 
ed out to 
make ar- 
rangements 
for my trip 
up the lake 
to Tzin- 
tziintzan 
and the Titian, and I 
with my sketch-book 
to see the town. 

A closer view was 
not disappointing. 

Patzcuaro is more 
Moorish than any 
city in Mexico. The 
houses have over- t 
hanging eaves sup- 
ported by roof raf- ^ ^^ 
ters similar to those 

seen in southern Spain. The verandas 
are shaded by awnings and choked up 
with flowers. The arcades are flanked by 




184 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

slender Moorish columns, the streets are 
crossed by swinging lanterns stretched 
from house to house by iron chains, the 
windows and doorways are surmounted 
by the horseshoe arch of the Alhambra, 
and the whole place inside and out re- 
minds you of Toledo transplanted. Al- 
though seven thousand feet above the 
level of the sea, it is so near the edge of 
the slope running down into the hot coun- 
try that its market is filled with tropical 
fruits unknown on the plateau of Mexico 
farther east, and the streets thronged with 
natives dressed in costumes never met 
with in high latitudes. 

Tradition has it that in the days of the 
good Bishop Quiroga, when the See of 
Michoacan was removed hither from Tzin- 
tzuntzan, Patzcuaro gave promise of being 
an important city, as is proved by the un- 
finished cathedral. When, however, the 
See was again removed to Morelia the 
town rapidly declined, until to-day it is the 
least important of the old cities of Michoa- 
can. The plaza is trodden down and sur- 
rounded by market stalls, the churches are 
either abandoned or, what is worse, reno- 



Pat:{cuaro and the Lake i8^ 

vated, and there is nothing left of interest 
to the idler and antiquary, outside of the 
charm of its picturesque streets and loca- 
tion, except it may be the tomb of the 
great bishop himself, who lies buried un- 
der the altar of the Jesuit church, the 
Campania, — his bones wrapped in silk. 

I made some memoranda in my sketch- 
book, bought some coffee, lacquer ware, 
and feather work, and returned to the inn 
to look for Moon. He was sitting under 
the arcade, his feet against the column 
and his chair tilted back, smoking. He 
began as soon as I came within range : — 

" Yes, know all about it. You can go 
there three ways : over the back of a don- 
key, aboard an Indian canoe, or swim." 

" How far is it ? " 

" Fifteen miles." 

The Titian looked smaller and less im- 
portant than at any time since my leaving 
the city of Mexico. 

" What do you suggest ? " 

"I am not suggesting, I 'm a passen- 
ger." 

" You going ? " 

" Of course. Think I would leave you 



1 86 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

here to be murdered by these devils for 
your watch key ? " 

The picture loomed up once more. 

" Then we will take the canoe." 

" Next week you will, not now. Listen. 
Yesterday was market day ; market day 
comes but once a week. There are no 
canoes on the beach below us from as far 
up the lake as Tzintzuntzan, and the fish- 
ermen from Zanicho and towns nearer by 
refuse to paddle so far." 

He threw away his cigar, elongated 
himself a foot or more, broke out into a 
laugh at my discomfiture, slipped his 
arm through mine, and remarked apolo- 
getically *' that he had sent for a man and 
had an idea." 

In half an hour the man arrived, and 
with him the information that some em- 
ployees of the road had recently con- 
structed from two Indian dug-out canoes 
a sort of catamaran ; that a deck had been 
floored between, a mast stepped, and a 
sail rigged thereon. The craft awaited 
our pleasure. 

Moon's idea oozed out in driblets. 
Fully developed, it recommended the im- 



Pat^cuaro and the Lake i8y 

mediate stocking of the ship with provi- 
sions, the hiring of six Indians with sweep 
oars, and a start bright and early on the 
morrow for Tzintziintzan ; Moon to be 
commodore and hold the tiller ; I to have 




the captain's stateroom, with free use of 
the deck. 

The morning dawned deliciously cool 
and bright. Moon followed half an hour 
later, embodying all the characteristics of 
the morning and supplementing a few of 
his own, — another suit of clothes, a cloth 
cap, and an enormous spyglass. 



1 88 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

The clothes were the result of a further 
exchange of courtesies with a brother en- 
gineer, the cap replaced his time-worn 
broad sombrero, " out of courtesy to the 
sail," he said, and the spyglass would be 
useful either as a club of defence, or to 
pole over shoal places, or in examining the 
details of the Titian. " It might be hung 
high, and he wanted to see it." 

These explanations, however, were cut 
short by the final preparations for the 
start, — Moon giving orders in true nau- 
tical style, making fast the rudder, calling 
all hands aft to stow the various baskets 
and hampers, battening down the trap door 
hatches, and getting everything snug and 
trim for a voyage of discovery as absurd 
to him as if entered upon for the finding 
of the Holy Grail. 

Finally all was ready. Moon seized the 
tiller, and gave the order to cast off. A 
faint cheer went up from the group of na- 
tives on the shore, the wind gave a kindly 
puff, the six Indians, stripped to their 
waists, bent to their oars, and the catama- 
ran drifted clear of the gravel beach, and 
bore away up the lake to Tzintziintzan. 



Pat^cuaro and the Lake 189 

She was certainly as queer a looking 
craft as ever trailed a rudder. To be ex- 
act, she was about thirty feet long, half as 
wide, and drew a hand's-breadth of water. 
Her bow flooring was slightly trimmed to 
a point ; her square stern was protected 
by a bench a foot wide and high, — form- 
ing a sort of open locker under which a 
man could crawl and escape the sun ; 
her deck was flat, and broken only by the 
mast, which was well forward, and the 
rests or giant oarlocks which held the 
sweeps. The rudder was a curiosity. It 
was half as long as the boat, and hung 
over the stern like the pole of an old- 
fashioned well-sweep. When fulfilling its 
destiny it had as free charge of the deck 
as the boom of a fishing smack in a gale 
of wind. Another peculiarity of the rud- 
der was its independent action. It not 
only had ideas of its own but followed 
them. The skipper followed too after a 
brief struggle, and walked miles across 
the deck in humoring its whims. The 
sail was unique. It was made of a tarpau- 
lin which had seen better days as the fly 
of a camping tent, and was nailed flat to 



I go A White Umhrella in Mexico 

the short boom which wandered up and 
down the rude mast at will, assisted by 
half a dozen barrel hoops and the iron 
tire of a wheelbarrow. Two trap doors, 
cut midway the deck, led into the bowels 
of the dug-outs, and proved useful in 
bailing out leakage and overwash. 

As I was only cabin passenger and so 
without responsibility, I stretched my 
length along the bench and watched 
Moon handle the ship. At first all went 
smoothly, the commodore grasped the til- 
ler as cordially as if it had been the hand 
of his dearest friend, and the wilful rud- 
der, lulled to sleep by the outburst, swayed 
obediently back and forth. The tarpau- 
lin, meanwhile, bursting with the pride of 
its promotion, bent to the breeze in an 
honest effort to do its share. Suddenly 
the wind changed ; the inflated sail lost 
its head and clung wildly to the mast, the 
catamaran careened. Moon gave a vicious 
jerk, and the rudder awoke. Then fol- 
lowed a series of misunderstandings be- 
tween the commodore and the thoroughly 
aroused well-sweep which enlivened all 
the dull passages of the voyage, and in- 



Paticuaro and the Lake 191 



troduced into the general conversation 
every variety of imprecation known to me 
in languages with which I am familiar, 
assisted and enlarged by several dialects 
understood and appreciated only by the 
six silent, patient men keeping up their 
rhythmic movement at the sweeps. 

When we reached the first headland 
on our weather bow the wind freshened 
to a stiff breeze, and after a brief struggle 
Moon decided to go about. I saw at a 
glance that the catamaran held different 
views, and that it was encouraged and 
" egged " on, so to speak, by its co-con- 
spirator the rudder. 

" You men on the right, stop rowing." 
This order was emphasized by an empty 
bottle thrown from the locker. The three 
Indians stood motionless. 

" Haul that boom," —this to me, sketch- 
ing with my feet over the stern. 

I obeyed with the agility of a man- 
o'-war's man. The sail flapped wildly, the 
rudder gave a staggering lurch, and Moon 
measured his length on the deck ! 

By the time the commodore had re- 
gained his feet he had exhausted his vo- 



ig2 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

cabulary. Then with teeth hard set he 
lashed the rebelUous rudder fast to the 
locker, furled the crestfallen sail, and re- 
signed the boat to the native crew. Five 
minutes later he was stretched flat on the 
deck, bubbling over with good humor, and 
gloating over the contents of the hampers 
piled up around him. 

" That town over your shoulder on the 
right is Xanicho," he rattled on, pointing 
with his fork to some adobe huts clus- 
tered around a quaint church spire. 

" If we had time and a fair wind, I should 
like to show you the interior. It is ex- 
actly as the Jesuits left it three hundred 
years ago. Away over there on the right 
is Xaracuaro. You can see from here the 
ruins of the convent and of half a dozen 
brown hovels. Nobody there now but 
fishermen. The only white man in the 
village is the priest, and I would not 
wager to his being so all the way through. 
A little farther along, over that island, if 
you look close you can see a small town ; 
it is Igilatzio. There are important Az- 
tecs remains about it. A paved roadway 
leads to the adjoining village, which was 



Pat^cuaro and the Lake ig^ 

built long before the coming of the Span- 
iards. I do not believe all the marvellous 
stories told of the Aztec sacrifices, but 
over the hill yonder is the ruins of the 
only genuine Teocalli, if there ever was 
such a thing, in Mexico. I have made 
a study of these so-called Aztec monu- 
ments and have examined most of the 
Teocallis or sacrificial mounds of Mon- 
tezuma's people without weakening much 
my unbelief, but I confess this one puz- 
zles me. One day last winter I heard 
the Indians talking about this mound, 
and two of us paddled over. It lies in 
a hollow of the hills back of the town, 
and is inclosed by a stone wall about 
one thousand feet long, eight feet high, 
and four feet wide. The Teocalli itself 
stands in the middle of this quadrangle. 
It is constructed in the form of a trun- 
cated cone about one hundred feet square 
at the base and nearly as high, built 
entirely of stone, with an outside stairway 
winding around its four sides. On one 
corner of the top are the remains of a 
small temple. I do not think half a hun- 
dred people outside the natives have ever 



194 ^ White Umbrella in Mexico 

seen it. If it is not a Teocalli there is 
not one in all Mexico. The fact is, no 
other Aztec mound in Mexico is worthy of 
the name, — not even Cholula." 

Suddenly a low point, until now hidden 
by an intervening headland, pushed itself 
into the lake. Moon reached for his spy- 
glass and adjusted the sliding tube. 

"Do you see those two white specks 
over that flat shore ? " 

"Perfectly." 

" And the clump of dark trees surround- 
ing it ? " 

" Yes." 

" Well, that is Tzintziintzan. The big 
speck is what is left of the old Franciscan 
convent, the clump of trees is the olive 
orchard, the ancient burial-place of the 
Aztecs. The little speck is the top of the 
dome of the convent chapel, beneath 
which hangs your daub of a Titian." 




CHAPTER XII. 

TZINTZIJNTZAN AND THE TITIAN. 

The catamaran rounded the point, 
floated slowly up to the beach, and an- 
chored on a shoal within a boat's-length 
of the shore. Strung along the water's 
edge, with wonder-stricken faces, were 
gathered half of the entire population of 
Tzintziintzan. The other half were com- 
ing at full speed over the crest of the hill, 
which partly hid the village itself. 

There being but two feet of water, and 
those wet ones. Moon shot an order in an 
unknown tongue into the group in front. 



ig6 A White Umhrella in Mexico 

F ^ starting two 

of them for- 
' ^ ward, swung 

.^•^i"*' himself grace- 

\ '^- "" _j fully over the 

\ ^ ' shoulders of 

I _ the first, — I clinging to the sec- 
I . i ond, — and we landed dry shod 
, . .^ ^^^ midst of as curious a 

crowd of natives as ever greeted the great 
Christopher himself. 

The splendor which made Tzintziintzan 
famous in the days of the good Bishop 
Quiroga, when its population numbered 
forty thousand souls, has long since de- 
parted. The streets run at right angles, 
and are divided into squares of apparently 
equal length, marking a city of some im- 
portance in its day. High walls surround 
each garden and cast grateful shadows. 
Many of these are broken by great fissures 
through which can be seen the ruins of 
abandoned tenements overgrown with 
weeds and tangled vines. Along the tops 
of these walls fat melons ripen in the 
dazzling sun, their leaves and tendrils 
white with dust, and from the many seams 



Tiintiuntian and the Titian 197 

and cracks the cacti flaunt their deep-red 
blossoms in your face. 

We took the path starting from the 
beach, which widened into a broad road 
as it crossed the hill, over which could 
be seen the white spire of the church. 
This was beaten down by many feet, and 
marked the daily life of the natives — from 
the church to pray, to the shore to fish. 
With the exception of shaping some crude 
pottery, they literally do nothing else. 

As we advanced along this highway, — 
Moon carrying his spy-glass as an Irish- 
man would his hod over his shoulder, I 
my umbrella, and the Indians my sketch 
trap and a basket containing something 
for the padre, — the wall thickened and 
grew in height until it ended in a cross 
wall, behind which stood the ruins of a 
belfry, the broken bell still clinging to the 
rotting roof timber. Adjoining this was a 
crumbling archway without door or hinge. 

This forlorn entrance opened into the 
grounds of the once powerful establish- 
ment of San Francisco, closed and in 
ruins since 1740. Beyond this archway 
stood another, protected by a heavy double 



igS A White Umhrella in Mexico 



iron grating, which once swung wide to let 
pass the splendid pageants of the time, 

now rust - in- 
crusted, and 
half buried in 
the ground. 

Once inside, 
the transition 
was delightful. 
There was a 
great garden 
or orchard 
planted with 
olive trees of 
enormous size, 
their tops still 
alive, and their 
trunks seamed 
and gnarled 
with the storms of three and a half cen- 
turies, beneath which lie buried not only 
the great dignitaries of the Church, but 
many of the allies and chiefs of Cortez in 
the times of the Tarascan chieftancy. 

On one side of this orchard is the 
chapel of the Tercer Order and the Hos- 
pital and the convent church, now the 




T:(tnt;(untian and the Titian igg 

parrbqiiia. We crossed between the trees 
and waited outside the convent building 
at the foot of a flight of stone steps, built 
along an angle of a projection and lead- 
ing to the second floor of the building. 
These steps were crowded with Indians, 
as was also the passageway within, wait- 
ing for an audience with the parish priest, 
whose apartments were above. 

Nothing can adequately describe the 
dilapidation of this entrance and its sur- 
roundings. The steps themselves had 
been smeared over with mortar to hold 
them together, the door jambs were lean- 
ing and ready to fall, the passageway it- 
self ended in a window which might once 
have held exquisite panels of stained 
glass,' but which was now open to the ele- 
ments save where it was choked up with 
adobe bricks laid loosely in courses. The 
rooms opening into it were tenantless, 
and infested with lizards and bats, and 
the whole place inside and out was fast 
succumbing to a decay which seemed to 
have reached its limit, and which must 
soon end in hopeless ruin. 

We found the padre seated at a rude 



200 A White Umbrella in Mexico 



table in the darkest corner of a low-ceiled 
room on the left of the corridor, surrounded 
. - — ..-, by half a dozen In- 
dian women. He 




was at dinner, and 
the women were 
serving him from 
coarse earthen 
dishes. When he 
turned at our intru- 
sion, we saw a short, 
thickset man, wear- 
ing a greasy black 
frock, a beard a 
week old, and a 
^ '"" smile so treacher- 

ous that I involun- 
tarily tapped my inside pocket to make 
sure of its contents. He arose lazily, 
gathered upon his coat cuff the few stray 
crumbs clinging to his lips, and with a 
searching, cunning air, asked our busi- 
ness. 

Moon shifted his spy-glass until the 
large end was well balanced in his hand, 
and replied obsequiously, "To see the 
famous picture, holy father. This, my 



T^int^unt^an and the Titian 201 

companion, is a distinguished painter from 
the far East. He has heard of the glory 
of this great work of the master, of which 
you are the sacred custodian, and has 
come these many thousand miles to see it. 
I hope your reverence will not turn us 
away." 

I saw instantly from his face that he 
had anticipated this, and that his temper 
was not improved by Moon's request. I 
learned afterwards that a canoe had left 
Patzcuaro ahead of the catamaran, and 
that the object of our visit had already 
been known in Tzintzuntzan some hours 
before we arrived. 

"It is a holy day," replied the padre 
curtly, " and the sacristy is closed. The 
picture will not be uncovered." 

With this he turned his back upon us 
and resumed his seat. 

I looked at Moon. He was sliding his 
hand nervously up and down the glass, 
and clutching its end very much as a man 
would an Indian club. 

" Leave him to me," he whispered 
from behind his hand, noticing my disap- 
pointment ; " I '11 get into that sacristy, if 



202 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

I have to bat him through the door with 
this." 

In the hamper which Moon had in- 
structed Griddles the chef to pack for my 
comfort the day before at Morelia, was a 
small glass vessel, fiat in shape, its con- 
tents repressed by a cork covered with tin- 
foil. When Moon landed from the cata- 
maran this vessel was concealed among 
some boxes of dulces and fruits from 
the southern slope, inclosed in a wicker 
basket, and intrusted to an Indian who 
now stood within three feet of the table. 

" You are right, holy father," said 
Moon, bowing low. "We must respect 
these holy days. I have brought your 
reverence some delicacies, and when the 
fast is over, you can enjoy them." 

Then he piled up in the midst of the 
rude earthen platters and clay cups and 
bowls, — greasy with the remnants of the 
meal, — some bunches of grapes, squares 
of dulces, and a small bag of coffee. The 
flat vessel came last ; this Moon handled 
lovingly, and with the greatest care, rest- 
ing it finally against a pulque pot which 
the padre had just emptied. 



T:{intiunf:{an and the Titian 20^ 

The priest leaned forward, held the flat 
vessel between his nose and the window, 
ran his eyes along the flow line, and glan- 
cing at the women turned a dish over it 
bottom side up. 

" When do you return ? " he asked. 

"To-day, your reverence." 

There was a pause, during which the 
padre buried his face in his hands and 
Moon played pantomime war dance over 
the shaved spot on his skull. 

" How much will the painter give to 
the poor of the parish .? " said the padre, 
lifting his head. 

After an exposition of the dismal pov- 
erty into which the painter was plunged 
by reason of his calling, it was agreed that 
upon the payment to the padre of cinco 
pesos in silver — about one pound sterling 
— the painter might see the picture, when 
mass was over, the padre adding, — 

"There is presently a service. In an 
hour it will be over, then the sacristan can 
open the door." 

Moon counted out the money on the 
table, piece by piece. The padre weighed 
each coin on his palm, bit one of them, 



204 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

and with a satisfied air swept the whole 
into his pocket. 

The tolling of a bell hurried the women 
from the room. The padre followed slow- 
ly, bowing his head upon his breast. 
Moon and I brought up the rear, passing 
down the crumbling corridor over the un- 
even flooring and upturned and broken 
tiles and through a low archway until we 
reached a gallery overlooking a patio. 
Here was a sight one must come to Mex- 
ico to see. Flat on the stone pavements, 
seated upon mats woven of green rushes, 
knelt a score or more of Indian women, 
their cheeks hollow from fasting, and their 
eyes glistening with that strange glassy 
look peculiar to half-starved people. Over 
their shoulders were twisted black rebo- 
zos, and around each head was bound a 
veritable crown of thorns. In their hands 
they held a scourge of platted nettles. 
They had sat here day and night without 
leaving these mats for nearly a week. 

This terrible ceremony occurs but once 
a year, during passion week. The pen- 
ance lasts eight days. Each penitent pays 
a sum of money for the privilege, and her 



Tiint:{uni:{an and the Titian 20^ 

name and number is then inscribed upon 
a sort of tally-board which is hung on the 
cloister wall. Upon this is also kept a 
record of the punishment. The penitents 
provide their zarapes and pillows and the 
rush mats upon which to rest their weary- 
bones; the priest furnishes everything 
else, — a little greasy gruel and the stone 
pavement. 

The padre threaded his way through the 
kneeling groups without turning his head 
to the right or left. When his footsteps 
were heard they repeated their prayers the 
louder, and one young girl, weak from 
long fasting, raised her eyes to the priest's 
pleadingly. His stolid face gave no sign. 
With downcast eyes she leaned forward, 
bent low, and kissed the hem of his frock. 
As she stooped Moon pointed to the 
marks of the cruel thorns on her temples. 

" Shall I maul him a little ? " he whis- 
pered, twisting the glass uneasily. 

"Wait until we see the Titian, " I 
pleaded. 

The cloister led into the chapel. It 
was bare of even the semblance of a 
house of worship. But for the altar in 



2o6 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

one end, and the few lighted candles, it 
might have passed for the old refectory of 
the convent. We edged our way between 
the kneeling groups and passed out of a 
side door into an open court. Moon 
touched my arm. 

" See ! that about measures the poverty 
of the place, he said. One coffin for the 
whole village." 

On a rude bier lay a wooden box, nar- 
rowed at one end. It was made of white 
wood, decorated on the outside with a 
rough design in blue and yellow. The 
bottom was covered with dried leaves, and 
the imprint of the head and shoulders of 
the poor fellow who had occupied it a few 
hours before was still distinct. 

"Two underneath, one inside, a mum- 
bled prayer, then he helps to fill the hole 
and they save the box for the next. A 
little too narrow for the padre, I am 
afraid," soliloquized Moon, measuring the 
width with his eye. 

Another tap of the bell, and the Indians 
straggled out of the church and dispersed, 
some going to the village, others halting 
under the great tree trunks, watching us 



T^mt:(untian and the Titian 2oy 

curiously. Indeed, I had before this be- 
come aware of an especial espionage over 
us, which was never relaxed for a single in- 
stant. A native would start out from a 
doorway as soon as we touched the thresh- 
old, another would be concealed behind a 
tree or projecting wall until we passed. 
Then he would walk away aimlessly, look- 
ing back and signalling to another hidden 
somewhere else. This is not unusual with 
these natives. They have always resented 
every overture to part with their picture, 
and are particularly suspicious of stran- 
gers who come from a distance to see it, 
they worshipping it with a blind idolatry 
easily understood in their race. 

This fear of invasion also extends to 
their village and church. It has been 
known for several years that an under- 
ground passageway led from a point near 
the church to the old convent, and in 
1855 a party of savants, under the direc- 
tion of Father Aguirre, began to uncover 
its entrance. No open resistance was 
made by the natives, but in the silence of 
the night each stone and shovelful of 
earth was noiselessly replaced. 



2o8 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

A few years later the Bishop of Mexico 
offered for this picture the sum of twenty 
thousand pesetas, a sum of money fabu- 
lous in their eyes, and which if honestly 
divided would have made each native 
richer than an Aztec prince. I do not 
know whether their religious prejudices 
influenced them, or whether, remembering 
the quality of the penance gruel, they dare 
not trust the padre to divide it, but all 
the same it was refused. Moon assured 
me that if the painting ever left its rest- 
ing place it must go without warning, and 
be protected by an armed force. It would 
be certain death to any one to attempt its 
removal otherwise, and he firmly believed 
that sooner than see it leave their village 
the Indians would destroy it, 

*' Sefior, the padre says come to him." 

The messenger was a sun-dried, shriv- 
elled Mexican half-breed, with a wicked 
eye and a beak-like nose. About his head 
was twisted a red handkerchief, over which 
was flattened a heavy felt sombrero. He 
was barefooted, and his trousers were held 
up by a leather strap. 

" Who are you ? " said Moon. 



Tiintiunt:{an and the Titian 2og 

" I am the sacristan." 

" I thought so. Lead on. A lovely 
pair of cherubs, are they not ? " 

The padre met us at the door. He had 
sad news for us ; his mortification was ex- 
treme. The man who cleaned the sac- 
risty had locked the door that morning 
and started for Quiroga on a donkey. No 
one else had a key. 

I suggested an immediate chartering of 
another, and somewhat livelier donkey, 
with instructions to overtake and bring 
back the man with the key, dead or alive. 
The padre shrugged his shoulders, and 
said there was but one donkey in the vil- 
lage, — he was underneath the man with 
the key. Moon closed one eye and turned 
the other incredulously on the priest. 

" When will the man return ? " 

"In three days." 

"Your reverence," said the commo- 
dore slowly, "do not send for him. It 
might annoy him to be hurried. We will 
break in the door and pay for a new 
lock." 

Then followed a series of protests, be' 
ginning with the sacrilege of mutilating so 



210 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

sacred a door, and ending with a sugges- 
tion from the saffron-colored sacristan 
that an additional ciiico pesos would about 
cover the mutilation, provided every cen- 
tavo of it was given to the poor of the 



parish, and that the further insignificant 
sum of five pesetas, if donated to the es- 
pecial use of his sun-dried excellency, 
might induce him to revive one of his lost 
arts, and operate on the lock with' a rusty 
nail. 

Moon counted out the money with a 
suppressed sigh, remarking that he had 
"always pitied the poor, but never so 
much as now." Then we followed the 



T^mt^unf^an and the Titian 21 r 

padre and the sacristan down the winding 
steps leading to the cloister, through the 
dark corridor, past the entrance to the 
chapel, and halted at an arch closed by 
two swinging doors. His yellowness fum- 
bled among some refuse in one corner, 
picked up a bit of debris, applied his eyes 
to an imaginary keyhole, and pushed open 
a pair of wooden doors entirely bare of 
lock, hasp, or latch. They had doubtless 
swung loose for half a century ! I had to 
slip my arm through Moon's and pin his 
toes to the pavement to keep him still. 

The padre and the half-breed uncov- 
ered and dropped upon their knees. I 
looked over their heads into a room about 
thirty feet long by twenty wide, with a 
high ceiling of straight square rafters. 
The floor was paved in great squares of 
marble laid diagonally, the walls were 
seamed, cracked, and weather - stained. 
The only opening other than the door was 
a large window, protected on the outside 
by three sets of iron gratings, and on the 
inside by double wooden shutters. The 
window was without glass. The only arti- 
cles of furniture visible were a round ta- 



212 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

ble with curved legs occupying the centre 
of the room, a towel-rack and towel hung 
on the wall, and a row of wooden drawers 
built like a bureau, completely filling the 
end of the room opposite the door. Over 
this was hung, or rather fitted, the three 
sides of a huge carved frame, showing 
traces of having once been gilded, — the 
space was not high enough to admit its top 




member. Inside ~^- \ 
this frame glowed 
the noble picture. 

I forgot the padre, the oily-tongued sacris- 
tan, and even my friend Moon, in my won- 
der, loosened my trap, opened the stool, 
and sat down with bated breath to enjoy it. 



T:{int^unt^an and the Titian 21 ^ 

My first thought was of its marvellous 
preservation. More than three hundred 
years have elapsed since the great master 
touched it, and yet one is deluded into 
the belief that it was painted but yester- 
day, so fresh, pure, and rich is its color. 
This is no doubt due to the climate, and 
to the clear air circulating through the 
open window. 

The picture is an Entombment, sixteen 
feet long by seven feet high. Surround- 
ing the dead Christ wrapped in a winding 
sheet, one end of which is held in the 
teeth of a disciple, stands the Virgin, 
Magdalen, Saint John, and nine other fig- 
ures, all life-size. In the upper left hand 
corner is a bit of blue sky, against which 
is relieved an Italian villa, — the painter's 
own, a caprice of Titian's often seen in 
his later works. 

The high lights fall upon the arm of 
the Saviour drooping from the hammock- 
shaped sheet in which he is carried, and 
upon the head covering of the Virgin 
bending over him. A secondary light is 
found in the patch of blue sky. To the 
right and behind the group of disciples 



214 ^ White Umbrella in Mexico 

the shadows are intensely dark, relieving 
the rich tones of the browns and blues 
in the draperies, and the flesh tones for 
which the painter is famous. The exquisite 
drawing of each figure, the gradation of 
light and shade, the marvellous composi- 
tion, the relief and modelling of the Christ, 
the low but luminous tones in which it is 
painted, the superb harmony of these 
tones, all pronounce it the work of a 
master. 

The questions naturally arise. Is it by 
Titian ? and if so, how came it here in an 
Indian village in the centre of Mexico, 
and why has it been lost all these years 
to the art world ? To the first I answer, 
if not by Titian, who then of his time could 
paint it ? The second is easier : until the 
railroads of the last few years opened up 
the country, Mexico's isolation was com- 
plete. 

A slight resume of the history of its 
surroundings may shed some light on the 
question. After the ruin wrought in Mi- 
choacan in the early part of the six- 
teenth century by the evil acts of Nino 
de Guzman, — the president of the first 



T:(intiuntian and the Titian 21^ 

Audencia, — terminating in the burning 
of the Tarascan chief Sinzicha, the people, 
maddened with terror, fled to the moun- 
tains around Tzintziintzan and refused to 
return to their homes. To remedy these 
evils, the Emperor Charles V. selected 
the members of the second Audencia from 
among the wisest and best men of Spain. 
One of these was an intimate friend of the 
emperor, an eminent lawyer, the Licen- 
ciado Vasco de Quiroga. Being come to 
Mexico, Don Vasco, in the year 1533, vis- 
ited the depopulated towns, and with ad- 
mirable patience, gentleness, and love, 
prevailed on the terror-stricken Indians 
to have faith in him and return to their 
homes.^ 

The Bishopric of Michoacan was then 
founded, and this mitre was offered to 
Quiroga, though he was then a layman. 
Thereupon Quiroga took holy orders, and 
having been raised quickly through the 
successive grades of the priesthood, was 
consecrated a bishop and took possession 
of his see in the church of San Francisco 
in Tzintziintzan August 22, 1538. He 
1 Janvier's Mexicajt Guide. 



21 6 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

was then sixty-eight years old. As bishop, 
he completed the conquest through love 
that he had begun while yet a layman. 
He established schools of letters and the 
arts ; introduced manufactures of copper 
and other metals ; imported from Spain 
cattle and seeds for acclimatization ; 
founded hospitals, and established the 
first university of New Spain, that of San 
Nicholas, now in Morelia. 

When Philip II. ascended the throne the 
good deeds of the holy bishop had reached 
his ears, and the power and growth of his 
see had deeply touched the heart of the 
devout monarch, awakening in his mind 
a profound interest in the welfare of the 
church at Tzintzuntzan and Patzcuaro. 
During this period the royal palaces at 
Madrid were filled with the finest pictures 
of Titian, and the royal family of Spain 
formed the subjects of his best portraits. 
The Emperor Charles V. had been and 
was then one of the master's most lib- 
eral patrons. He had made him a count, 
heaped upon him distinguished honors, 
and had been visited by him twice at 
Augsburg and once at Bologna where he 



T^int:{untian and the Titian 21 y 

painted his portrait. It is even claimed 
by some biographers that by special in- 
vitation of his royal patron Titian vis- 
ited Spain about the year 1550, and was 
entertained with great splendor at the 
court. Moreover, it is well known that 
he was granted a pension, and that this 
was kept up by Philip until the painter's 
death. 

Remembering the dates at which these 
events took place ; the fanatical zeal of 
Philip, and his interest in the distant 
church, redeemed and made glorious by 
Quiroga, the friend 2.xv^profegk of his royal 
predecessor ; the possible presence of Ti- 
tian at the court at the time, certainly the 
influence of his masterpieces, together 
with the fact that the subject of this pic- 
ture was a favorite one with him, notably 
the Entombment in Venice and the rep- 
lica at the Louvre, it is quite within the 
range of probability that Philip either or- 
dered this especial picture from the mas- 
ter himself, or selected it from the royah 
collection. 

It is quite improbable, in view of the 
above facts, that the royal donor would 



2i8 A White Umhrella in Mexico 

have sent the work of an inferior painter 
representing it to be by Titian, or a copy by 
one of his pupils. 

Another distinguishing feature, and by 
far the most conclusive, is its handling. 
Without strong contrasting tones of color 
Titian worked out a peculiar golden mel- 
low tone, — which of itself exercises a 
magical charm, — and divided it into in- 
numerable small but significant shades, 
producing thereby a most complete illu- 
sion of life. This Titianesque quality is 
particularly marked in the nude body of 
the Christ, the flesh appearing to glow 
with a hidden light. 

Moon's criticisms were thoroughly char- 
acteristic. He hoped I was satisfied. Did 
I want to see both sides of it ; if I did, 
he would push out the rear wall. Would 
the spy-glass be of any use, etc. I waved 
him away, opened my easel, and began a 
hurried memorandum of the interior, and 
a rough outline of the position of the fig- 
ures on the canvas. When his retreating 
footsteps echoed down the corridor, I 
closed the doors gently behind him and 
resumed my work. The picture ab' 



Tiint^^unt^ian and the Titian 219 

sorbed me. I wanted to be shut up alone 
with it. 

A sense of a sort of temporary owner- 
ship comes over one when left alone in 
a room containing some priceless treas- 
ure or thing of beauty not his own. It 
is a selfish pleasure which is undisturbed, 
and which you do not care to share with 
another. For the time being you monop- 
olize it, and it is as really your own as 
if you had the bill of sale in your pocket. 
I deluded myself with this fancy, and be- 
gan examining more closely the iron grat- 
ings of the window and the manner of 
fastening them to the masonry, wonder- 
ing whether they would always be secure. 
I inspected all the rude ornaments on 
the front of the drawers of the wide low 
bureau which stood immediately beneath 
the picture ; opened one of them a few 
inches and discovered a bundle of vest- 
ments dust covered and spattered with 
candle grease. Lifting myself up I noted 
the carving of the huge frame, and fol- 
lowed the lines of the old gilding into 
its dust-begrimed channels ; and to make 
a closer study of the texture of the can- 



220 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

vas and the handling of the pigments, I 
mounted the bureau itself and walked the 
length of the painting, applying my pocket 
magnifying glass to the varnished sur- 
face. When I stood upright the drooping 
figure of the Christ reached nearly to the 
level of my eye. Looking closer I found 
the over-glaze to be rich and singularly 
transparent, and after a careful scrutiny 
fancied I could separate into distinct 
tones the peculiar mosaic of color in 
which most of all lies the secret of Ti- 
tian's flesh. In the eagerness of my search 
I unconsciously bent forward and laid 
my hand upon the Christ. 

" Cuidado ! Estrangero, es muerte! " (Be- 
ware ! Stranger, it is death ! ") came a 
quick angry voice in my rear. 

I started back with my heart in my 
mouth. Behind me, inside the doors, 
stood two Indians. One advanced threat- 
eningly, the other rushed out shouting for 
the padre. In an instant the room was 
crowded with natives clamoring wildly, 
and pointing at me with angry looks and 
gestures. The padre arrived breathless, 
followed by Moon, who had forced his 



Tiini^untian and the Titian 221 



way through the throng, his big frame 
towering above the others. 

During the hubbub I kept my place on 
the bureau, undecided what to do. 

" You have put your foot in it ! " said 
Moon, to me, in EngUsh in a tone of 
voice new to me from him. " Do exactly 
what I tell you, and perhaps we may get 
away from here with a whole skin. Turn 
your face to the picture." I did so. 
" Now come down from that old clothes- 
press backwards, get down on your knees, 
and bow three times, you lunatic." 

I had sense enough left to do this rev- 
erently, and with som.e show of cere- 
mony. 

Then without moving a muscle of his 
face, and with the deepest earnestness. 
Moon turned to the padre and said : — 

" The distinguished painter is a true 
believer, holy father. His hand had lost 
its cunning and he could no longer paint. 
He was told in a dream to journey to 
this place, where he would find this sa- 
cred treasure, upon touching which his 
hand would regain its power. See ! Here 
is the proof." 



222 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

The padre examined the sketch resting 
upon my easel, and without taking his eye 
from Moon, repeated the miracle to the 
Indians in their own tongue. The change 
in their demeanor was instantaneous. 
The noise ceased ; a silence fell upon the 
group and they crowded about the draw- 
ing wonderstruck. Moon bowed low to 
the padre, caught up the standing easel, 
threw my trap over his shoulder, pushed 
me ahead of him, an opening was made, 
— the people standing back humbly, — 
and we passed through the crowd and out 
into the sunlight. 

Once clear of the church he led the way 
straight to the catamaran, hoisted the sail, 
manned the sweeps, swung the rudder 
clear of the shoal, and headed for Patz- 
cuaro. When everything was snug and 
trim for the voyage home, and the cata- 
maran had drifted slowly out into the 
deep water of the lake, the commodore 
lounged down the deck, laid his hand 
upon my shoulder, and said, half reprov- 
ingly, — 

" Well, you beat the devil." 



TiintitLnt:(an and the Titian 22^ 

When we pushed off from Tzintziintzan, 
the afternoon sun was glorifying our end 
of the universe, and in our delirium we fan- 
cied we had but to spread our one wing 
to reach bed and board, fifteen miles 
distant, before the rosy twilight could 
fade into velvet blue. But the wind was 
contrary. It was worse — it was mali- 
cious. It blew south, then north, and 
then took a flying turn all around the 
four points of the compass, and finally 
settled down to a steady freshness dead 
ahead. For hours at a time low points of 
land and high hills guarded by sentinel 
trees anchored themselves off our weather 
bow as if loath to part from us, and re- 
mained immovable until an extra spurt at 
the sweeps drove them into the darkness. 
To return was hazardous, to drift ashore 
dangerous, to advance almost impossible. 
As the night wore on the wind grew tired 
of frolicking and went careering over the 
mountains behind us. Then the lake grew 
still, and the sweeps gained upon the 
landscape and point after point floated 
off mysteriously and disappeared in the 
gloom. 



224 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

All night we lay on the deck looking up 
at the stars and listening to the steady 
plashing of the sweeps, pitying the poor 
fellows at their task and lending a hand 
now and then to give them a breathing 
spell. The thin crescent of the new moon, 
which had glowed into life as the color 
left the evening sky, looked at us wonder- 
ingly for a while, then concluding that we 
intended making a night of it, dropped 
down behind the hills of Xanicho and went 
to bed. Her namesake wrapped his own 
coat about me, protesting that the night 
air was bad for foreigners, threw one end 
of the ragged tarpaulin over his own 
shoulders, tucked a hamper under his 
head, and spent the night moralizing over 
the deliberate cruelty of my desertion in 
the morning. 

It was a long and dreary voyage. The 
provender was exhausted. There was not 
on board a crumb large enough to feed a 
fly. Between the padre, the six Indians, 
and ourselves every fig, dulce, bone, crust, 
and drop had disappeared. 

When the first streak of light illumined 
the sky we found ourselves near enough 



T^int^unt^an and the Titian 22^ 

to Patzcuaro to follow the outline of the 
hills around the town and locate the little 
huts close to the shore. When the dawn 
broke clear we were pushing aside the 
tall grass near the beach, and the wild 
fowl, startled from their haunts, were 
whirling around our heads. 

The barking of a dog aroused the in- 
mates of a cabin near the water's edge, 
and half an hour later Moon was pound- 
ing coffee in a bag and I devilling the 
legs of a turkey over a charcoal brazier — 
the inmates had devoured all but the 
drumsticks the night before. We were 
grateful that he was not a cripple. While 
the savory smell of the toasted cacoiie, 
mingled with the aroma of boiling coffee, 
filled the room, Moon set two plates, cut 
some great slices of bread from a loaf 
which he held between his knees, and 
divided equally the remnants of the frugal 
meal. Two anatomical specimens picked 
clean and white and two empty plates 
told the story of our appetites. 

" At eight o'clock, caro mio, the train 
returns to the East. Do you still in- 
sist on being barbarous enough to leave 



226 A White Umbrella in Mexico 

me ? What have I done to you that you 
should treat me thus ? " 

I pleaded my necessities. I had reached 
the end of my journey. My task was 
completed ; henceforth my face must be 
set towards the rising sun. Would he 
return as far with me as Zacatecas, or 
even to the city of Mexico ? 

No, he expected a dispatch from his 
chief. He would stay at Patzcuaro. 

I expected this. It was always his 
chief. No human being had ever seen 
him ; no messenger had ever brought news 
of his arrival ; no employee had ever ex- 
plained his delay. In none of the cit- 
ies through which we had travelled had 
Moon ever spent five minutes in looking 
him up, or ten seconds in regretting his 
absence. 

When my traps were aboard, and the 
breezy, happy - hearted fellow had wrung 
my hand for the twentieth time, I said to 
him : — 

" Moon, one thing before we part. Have 
you ever seen your chief for a single in- 
stant since we left Toluca ? " 

He looked at me quizzically, closed his 



T^int^unt^an and the Titian 22y 

left eye, — a habit with him when anything 
pleased him greatly, — and replied : — 

" A dozen times." 

" Where ? " I asked doubtingly. 

" When I shave." 



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